More than a Bird, More than a Plane
by SharKohen
Summary: 'It may sound absurd, but don't be naive. Even heroes have a right to bleed.' In post Anti-Hero Act Ameripan, teen heroes are a problem. Dragon Kid? Criminal. Teleporting Archer? Psycho. Long-hair Girl? Ditz. Immortal Ice-guy? Fugitive. Forget the shadowy ganglord and his frosty daughter. We're too busy shooting good guys. SuperheroAU w/ Japanese elements. ROBTFD/disney/dreamworks
1. Chpt 1: The Age of Supers

**Warning: Spoiler for the films** ** _Megamind_** **,** ** _The Incredibles_** **and** ** _Big Hero 6_** **, all which are partially canonical in this universe. Slight Spoilers also for all films in the Rise of the Brave Tangled Frozen Dragons Universe. Other films that may appear include** ** _Princess and The Frog, Wreck-it Ralph, Monsters vs. Aliens,_** **and assorted Disney and Dreamwork films.**

* * *

Heroes. Supers. Freaks. Ameripan has plenty of those.

One of the very first was an Alien called Metro Man. Brought to earth via a spacepod from his dying planet, he had it all; super-strength, super-speed, ability of flight and heat vision. Metro City, which is present-day Metroville, was the centre of his glory and in a time where people were still new to whole concept of 'heroes', he was revered, worshipped, respected. People stood in awe of this charismatic, god-like figure, reaching their hands out, hoping to touch his cape just once.

And then he died, killed 'accidentally' by his archenemy, Megamind - another alien from another planet; blue-skinned, bulbous head, had a taste for dark-coloured clothes, maniacal laughter and rock n' roll. Though at one point of time he had held the Metro City in a state of anarchy, somehow or another, Megamubd turned over a new leaf after another villain popped up. This villain was a fellow with all the abilities of Metro Man, but the temper of a toddler and the spelling ability of one too. 'Tighten', as he called himself, (Megamind had explained that it was supposed to be 'Titan') was eventually outwitted and outclassed by the alien villain, who eventually took up his former rival's mantle and became Metro City's new protector.

Stories of these legends spread all over Ameripan, and inspiration to do the same did as well. It started out as scruffy vigilantes trying to make good, but soon, a new array of protectors rose up. Some called themselves 'mutants', other called themselves 'metahumans', other just called themselves 'Supers'. Origin stories came in all forms - chemical accidents, birth defects, asteroids. Some were freaky, like the monster gang led by Ginormica. Others were normal spandex clad individuals, like Gazerbeam and Frozone. It was the Golden Age of Superheroes, and it was glorious.

But with more heroes came more villains. Looking over the property damages, the injured people, the maniacs they had stick in padded cells, some began to question if having Supers was worth it. As more Supers started taking matters into their own hands without any say from authorities, pundits warned that it would cascade into a state where people truly battled with strength and brutality, rather than negotiation and reconciliation.

The public threshold for Supers was crossed after Mr. Incredible saved a man who was trying to commit suicide. The man was paralyzed for life, and he blamed the Supers.

Then suddenly everyone started blaming the Supers. Trashed roads? Supers. Crime rate soaring? Supers. Increased Divorce rates? Supers. The bill for the Anti-Hero act was passed. Supers were forced into an integration program to help them blend into the populace. Nobody wanted heroes anymore, so they disappeared. Crime didn't, but the police had no choice other than to pretend they were on top of it. There were no more capes. No more secret weapons. No more shining symbols into the sky. Five years down the road, no one even remembered that there was ever an alternative option to calling '911'.

Fifteen years after the Anti-Hero Act, however, everything changed. One huge unstoppable robot, one epic battle, one victory, and suddenly people wanted heroes again. The front-runners of this was Metroville. Home to the original Metro Man and Megamind years ago, and now home the red-black, spandex-clad superhero family called the Incredibles, it wasn't all that surprising that this city began pressuring for the reinstatement of all Supers and their rights.

The other states of Ameripan weren't so keen. They cited the havoc that seemed to come with Supers, and the subsequent taxes that had to be used for its repairs. Thus was drawn the divide between states. The issue created so much dissension that it ended taking up a spot just under green tax and healthcare in the Senate.

The public didn't sit idle. Groups of youngsters that began parading the streets, calling for 'Hero rights', and other teams marching for the opposite cause too. All for forms of social media was utilized for the intense discussion of freedom versus security, of legality versus morality. There were people at train stations who gave out flyers and flags for either causes, and even some stuck posters in toilets. 'Everyone needs a hero,' you could hear want party declare. 'But not everyone should have one,' the other would retort.

Over the next five years of the debate, heroes like the Incredibles became solidified part of the cities like Metroville. New smaller groups also emerged in other towns, like the teenaged team Big Hero 6 of San Fransokyo. If you lived in these regions, you would probably hear to no end of praise for these guys. They were established heroes. They worked with authorities. They were good people.

'Heroes' in other places ...not so much.

Some time after the Big Hero 6 turned up, new young 'hero-wannabes' started appearing too. A lot of them were just lanky kids, dressed in inappropriate clothes with delusions of grandeur. The police took these kids back home, let their parents give them a talking down and let them off with a warning.

But there was also the more dangerous breed. Actual teen Supers.

If you look at the highly-trained youngsters in the Incredibles, or the 'friendly-neighborhood' bunch of BH6, you'd think that teen supers can't be too bad. Kids are nicer than adults, right?

Not always.

The first independent teen hero to ever hit the newsstands was the Hero of Berkazaki - Knight. Snarky, sarcastic but good-hearted, he fought his foes with a metallic shield and occasionally a fiery sword. But the 'wow' factor was really his steed. A large black flying reptile, this dragon called a Night Fury had a scream that could shake your bones, and a blast that could melt them too. 'Knight and Fury' was what the press dubbed the collective duo. For all his good intentions, he was pursued for a good many weeks after his first appearance. Quite quickly, he became the cause of much headache for the Berkazaki Police Department and was even labelled 'Public Enemy No. 1'. He finally earned his reprieve when he successfully disbanded the crime-ring known as Helheim's Gate, turning over its psychotic leader, Red Death, to the cops. Overnight, he became a shining example to all the emerging young heroes and people had hoped that the supers of the future would prove to be better than their predecessors.

Well, until he killed. The victim was no innocent - a corrupted heir to an criminal empire - but it was not the place of heroes to pass judgement. Underaged or not, a warrant for his arrest was issued. Now the papers replaced 'hero' with 'vigilante'. Despite the bad press and the harrowing threats, the black rider and his dragon still watched the night skies of Berkazaki and guarded its people.

You'd think the troubles of being a vigilante would deter others. Nope.

Some time later, another brand of teen heroism emerged. The press had called him many names - the Shade, the Hood, the Hunter, the Blue Rouge - before they finally discovering six weeks down that this vigilante called himself 'Will-O-Wisp.' It took them three more weeks to realize that 'he' was a 'she'.

Always garbed in a hooded cloak that hid her face, the Wisp was an archer of ultimate precision, and a teleporter too. Unlike the good-humored Knight and Fury of Berk, her intentions were a lot more shady. She refused interviews and negotiations with police. Those that encountered her described her brusque and sometimes rude. She didn't kill, but she didn't hold back from violence either - as apparent by the number of puncture wounds unfortunate criminals earned from her arrows. Yet those who had been rescued by her also testified that she seemed well-meaning. The city of Dunbuoka was at a stalemate about what to do with their adolescent crime-fighter.

Not long after that, a brighter figure joined the dark cast. She was a new teen heroine from Korobe. Wielding photokinesis, her signature look and weapon came in the form of her long gleaming golden hair - seventy feet of it. She was bubbly and very enthusiastic about to her voluntary job, though she shunned the cameras the way Wisp did (still, she did apologize whenever she broke someone's nose.) Agile, sleet and sweet, they wanted to dub her 'Sunflower' but eventually after she did much haggling with the press, they changed her name to 'Solaris'.

They weren't evil, true. But that didn't mean that they were good either. You have to understand that when your faith in one of them had been shaken, your faith in all of them had been shaken. And I'm not talking about Knight's ambiguous manslaughter, Wisp's hard-handed ways or how Solaris blinded three cops during a run.

Let me tell you about 13.

This guy started it out like Knight and Fury - hunted, chased, but eventually gained sufficiently popularity that most denizens started accepting him. Sort of. He did kill quite a number of criminals, but you have to understand that he was the 'hero' in Burgeshima. It was a city neck-deep in gangs, drug-rings, and all other assorted disgusting activities you prefer not to know about. A vigilante here was just like every other gangster on the street, except that if you didn't do anything wrong, he probably won't kill you. To many there, he was probably the clearest figure of justice they'd ever known.

He was a young fellow - you could tell by his voice - and if you managed to sit him down and chatted with him, he'd answer you rather politely - and threaten you in same tone if you asked the wrong questions. But you couldn't doubt the fact that this guy, weird mask aside, was definitely a person, and he might actually be on your side.

But there are unspoken rules about certain behaviors in the world of vigilantism. It's one thing to kill a criminal in a city that seemed to have nothing but criminals. It's another thing to kill a criminal in another hero's city, especially if that city's San Fransokyo. It's even worse when the criminal was worth 65.9 billion USD and the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world. You've pretty much painted a target on your head when you've killed 30 and injured over 59 innocent people in the process.

It won't be just Big Hero 6 coming after him. Oh, no. All of them will be after him, and with good reason too. It's hard enough being a young vigilante with other vigilantes ruining everything for you.

13\. Bad luck indeed.

Ameripan had lots of Supers alright. It could do with much, much less.

* * *

 _HUNDREDS MOURNING IN SAN FRANSOKYO._

 _BIG HERO 6 AIDS IN RESCUE EFFORTS._

 _CONDOLENCES OFFERED BY MAYOR DUNBROCH OF DUNBUOKA TO THE GRIEIVING OF THE CITY OF THE FUTURE._

 _OVER $500,000 WORTH OF PROSTHETICS DONATED BY KREI TECH'S RIVALS FOR SURVIVORS._

 _"SUCH DESPICABLE ACTS MUST BE MET WITH FORCE. "_

 _"WHERE ARE THE REAL HEROES, AND WHY DIDN'T THEY STOP THIS?"_

 _"ANTI-HERO ACT MUST BE REINFORCED ONCE AGAIN TO PREVENT SUCH TERRORISM. IT'S TIME THAT JUSTICE BE ENACTED ACCORDING TO THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE, RATHER THAN JUDGEMENT OF THE DELUSIONAL FEW."_

"This is it, Kristoff. I can feel it."

"And...feel what exactly?" His voice was uncertain, because at this point, he was increasingly sure that his assigned partner was insane.

Both of them were interns. That meant meagre pay, meagre recognition and lots and lots of hard work. The good thing was that in a reporting firm, they were required to contribute to the paper despite the rookie ranking, so the experience made up for the tough work. The bad news, though, was also that they were required to contribute to the paper at all, and they stuck their nose to the grindstone for it.

Her eyes were sparkling excitement, _inspiration_ \- which he quickly translated to mean trouble for him. "This will be our big break. We need to do this story. The whole Roxanne Ritchie Scholarship could be ours!"

Getting a journalism scholarship from an established reporting firm was insanely hard in Arenashi. Good grades and internships was just first of the requirements. The other stuff included sucking up to the editor, sucking up to your co-workers, and basically learning how to be all-rounded back-stabbing jerkface.

She was too nice. He was too anti-social.

So while all the other interns were scrambling off to San Fransokyo to cover the tragedy, both of them were still stuck at the bus station, arguing on the destination.

Then, he remembered. His partner was a rich kid - a mini-heiress to a humble, but prosperous company. "You don't need the scholarship, do you? You can afford the university course without it."

"But it's a _Roxanne Ritchie Award_ ," she threw back, emphasizing each word slowly. He understood, of course. In all the unwanted time that they had spent together, he had come to learn that Anna was a terrifyingly hardcore hero geek. She knew everything about heroes. From Metro Man to Frozone, she was a gold mine of absolutely useless hero facts. Given what how much she completely adored the Supers, it was starting to make sense that she wanted the scholarship for no other reason that it bearing the name of her number one hero - the first ever reporter to nail down the story of the first ever super, and also the first person to actually marry a Super.

Well, a girl could dream, couldn't she?

Anna clasped her hands together, sticking out her bottom lip like a child begging for candy after midnight, peering up at him with large eyes. "Please, Kristoff. _Please_."

He kept his gaze firmly on the screen above the ticket counter. The next bus to San Fransokyo was in fifteen minutes. Unwillingly, he also discovered that the next bus to Burgeshima was in ten.

"Please Kristoff," she begged again, tugging his shirt sleeve. "You can have the scholarship money. I just want the title."

He sighed, deciding not to correct her that it was quite impossible to scholarship shared between them like prize money. Either they both got the scholarship, or one of them did, or neither of them got it.

All the same, her hopes were not entirely false. If they could hit a killer story - one that would shake the entire public and have people grabbing papers of the stands, both of them would have pretty much nailed a scholarship. It was attractive to have something else pay off his bills for once. His family wasn't well off, and he had been working two other jobs to just to keep himself and Sven eating.

 _"Please. Please. Please. Please."_

Besides, whether he liked or not, Anna did have a really adorable pout, and it was very hard to refuse.

With a growl, he gave in. "Fine."

"Yes!" She literally danced up to the ticket counter. When she had returned with the evidence of their purchase, they had 'Burgeshima' printed on both of them.

They had both boarded the bus - him with his duffel bag for his camera, and her with her small backpack for her notepad and recorder - when it occurred to him that he didn't quite know what her wonderful plan was. "Wait, why are we going to Burgeshima again?"

She huffed, just slightly annoyed at having to repeat herself. "Because everyone else would be going to San Fransokyo, so if we want a better story, we need to go to Burgeshima."

Kristoff scrunched his face. "I still don't get it."

Slightly impatiently, she explained, "Most people are going to cover the story about the tragedy. Some people will cover the criminal aspect. A lot of people are going to cover Supers-hate."

"So?" he probed, slightly disturbed by the seriousness that befell her.

"We're going to do another angle. Something no one's done before."

There was a curious edginess in her tone that made Kristoff sit up in alarm. He was seriously starting to wonder if he should have just gone to San Fransokyo after all.

He could swear there was a maniacal glint in her eyes at the next words. "We're going to interview 13."

* * *

 **S/N (Story Notes, where I put stuff related to the story):**

 **Take the Hero films from each animation company - The Incredibles from Pixar, Megamind from Dreamworks, and Big Hero 6 from Disney, and smash it into one universe. This is hopefully what you get. Maybe.**

 **All city names, like San Fransokyo, are based on combination of cities in Japan and the cities from the ROTBTFD films. Here are the cities' and their heroes if you didn't catch it in my very lengthy exposition:**

 **Berkazaki (Berk and Okazaki)**

 **Hero: Knight and Fury - Inspired by Spiderman and The Blue Beetle.**

 **Dunbuoka (Dunbroch and Fukuoka)**

 **Hero: Will-O-Wisp - Inspired by Batman, Nightcrawler and Blue Devil.**

 **Korobe (Corona and Kobe)**

 **Hero: Solaris - Inspired by Dr. Light (The Good One) , Green Lantern, Wonder Woman and Rapunzel herself. (This Solaris is not related to the DC comics one.)**

 **Burgeshima (Burgess and Hiroshima)**

 **'Hero': 13 - Inspired by Jason Todd and Two-Face Harvey. (Not related to Traci 13 of DC comics.)**

 **Arenashi (Arendelle and Yamanashi)**

 **Hero: None. Home to Anna and Kristoff.**

 **Canonical Places:**

 **Metroville: From 'The Incredibles'. This city is combined with Metro City from 'Megamind'. Think of it as the cities' old name was Metro City, then renamed as Metroville.**

 **Heroes: Metro Man (deceased), Megamind (retired), The Incredibles and Frozone.**

 **San Fransokyo: From Big Hero 6.**

 **Heroes: Big Hero 6 Team.**

 **The identities of all should be devisable except for 13, because 13 is... well, the mystery.**

 **The films of Megamind, Incredibles and Big Hero 6 are all canonical in this universe - in that order.**

 **Pairings would be strictly canonical unless for plot device. There would only be Jelsa if deemed necessary for plot/character development.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't claim to have any knowledge of American or Japanese politics, reporting internship or actually workings in criminology.**

 **Up Next: No idea. Clarification on powers and origin stories of heroes should come later. Note that Elsa and Jack are conspiciously absent from this list... or are they?**

 **There are no OCs in my story, btw.**

* * *

 **A/N: (Author's notes, where I talk more about me and administration like updates.)**

 **This story idea stemmed from my love for superheroes and comics. I know that there many Superhero AUs out there, but hopefully this one sounds a bit different from the other superhero AUs you've ever seen. These guys aren't exactly heroes. They're just people. Weird people. Cool people. Young people struggling wih their identities.**

 **I know I have three ongoing stories other than this, and I'm supposed to be studying, not writing. However, this story idea had been bugging so long that I just had to give it physical form. Whether I would continue or even plan for it is another matter entirely.**

 **Reviews are appreciated. Criticism too. I just like knowing that people actually read this stuff.**

 **27 April 2016 - Edited Grammar, Corrected Names and Timings.**


	2. Chpt 2: Holiday Destination Zero

To understand Burgeshima, you have to understand its history, and to understand its history, you have to understand its heroes.

Before the Anti-Hero Act, Burgeshima was a great town. It actually had achieved one or two 'Best Home in the Ameripan' awards. It was a wonderful place to bring up your kids - safe streets, clean and great schools. It was quite surprising that the property market there didn't perpetually explode.

It was because of the Guardians. While most Golden Age Heroes kept in contact with one another, most chose to work solo. One of the few actual superhero teams to last for a very long time was this bunch of misfits that patrolled the streets of Burgeshima.

In those days, you could look up in the night sky, you would see St. Nicholas' flying reindeers pulling his sleigh through the clouds. If you see a patches of green in the middle of winter, you knew that the Easter Bunny had stopped by. Nothing quite beats watching the Sandman golden tendrils of sand - 'dream sand', reporters have named it - swirling around the lamp posts and chimneys, lighting the dark streets up and scaring nasty characters away. You rarely saw the Tooth Fairy herself, but you'd probably have seen her miniature workers - tiny fairies that served as their mother's eyes and ears for any unscrupulous activity. And they were incredibly cute, by the way.

These guys were no myths. They were flesh and blood heroes that guarded the city.

Oh, there was one more member, but most people didn't know about him. By the time he became a regular on the team, the Anti-Hero Act came into play and it was pretty much moot.

The Guardians took to the Act as well as any hero - which was, well, badly. Both the Easter Bunny and St. Nicholas had to be forced to 'integrate' into other cities, simply because their faces were too well-known in Burgeshima. The Sandman kept breaking the rules and going vigilante, so they had to send him packing too. The Tooth Fairy was the only one who was successfully integrated in the city, even married a normal person and built a little family too. And then got divorced, and went broke, and got evicted - all the normal problems normal people went through.

The last member was just so frustrated with the entire program that he just stamped off in a huff and hadn't been seen since. Some people said that he had flown off to the Artic to build a Fortress of Solitude. Or something like that. The National Supers Agency (NSA) hadn't been too concerned about his disappearance. As long as he wasn't causing any trouble - and by 'trouble' they meant playing heroics - they didn't care.

The point was - when the cat's away, the mice will play. When the cat's been put on permanent vacation, the mice will swarm the town and shred it to pieces.

Within ten days, the Burgeshima's underground emerged from their cesspools, bringing their filth to the surface. Within ten months, the supervillain once known as the Boogey-man, the Guardians' number one enemy, took his place as the criminal kingpin of the city. In the next twenty years, many other criminal syndicates popped up in the city, but there was no doubt the Nightmare Yakuza was top dog. Woe to any who dared challenged them.

It had come to a point of time in Burgeshima where using the name 'Black' was like using a flash-pay credit card. Except no bank in the city would be stupid enough to coerce a 'Black' wielder into paying back the credit. The Nightmares, especially those with 'Black' cards, took whatever they wanted. If they left you alone, that meant that they were pleased enough not slice you up from ear to ear in front of your family.

Which was why the owner of the small department stall stubbornly refused payment.

"Please, M'am, take it as a gift," the large fellow told his customer through his thick brogue. When she didn't reply, his voice heightened in anxiety. "Is there something you are not happy with? The type? The colour?"

"They are fine, Oaken, really," his customer answered, not quite meeting his eyes. She placed the bouquet on the counter, still frowning intently at them. Then she asked once more, "How much do I owe you?"

When he started to repeat himself that it was a gift, she simply ignored him and pulled out her wallet. Fingering through wade of notes, she swiped out three fifty-dollar notes and slid over to him. Interrupting his tirade, she said, "Keep the change."

"No, no, I couldn't," Oaken told her, shaking his head. "My prices in the shop are always fair. Based on supply and demand, the actual price would be-" his voice trailed off when he noted how the guards standing behind her stiffened. Hastily changing his tone, Oaken said, "Thank you very much, m'am."

The woman across the counter, who certainly too young to be called 'M'am', picked up the flowers up. One aide had opened the shop door for her, so after bidding Oaken farewell, she departed, trailed by her two assistants and her two bodyguards. Her car was only a few steps away from the store, but her aides had already laid out a small roll out carpet on the path. This was so that her sapphire studded heels would never need to touch the grime that littered the cobbles. She made an internal sigh at the extravagance, but made no outward objection. If she did, the aides would get in trouble.

The door to the limousine was opened for her when she was exactly twenty feet from it; no more than twenty feet so that there would be buffer space for the door to be opened without hitting her, and no less than twenty-feet so that the Argentinean leather seats wouldn't get cooled by the chilly spring breeze. She slid into her seat in one graceful motion, for she was a very graceful person, and the door was shut gently from outside with only the slightest 'click'. She didn't need to glance out of the window to know that her aides would have gotten into the car behind her own, or that the bodyguards, with their MP7's strapped to their sides, would have climbed onto their motorcycles.

"Where to, Ms. Black?" her chauffeur asked her.

"The church, Kai," she replied, placing the bouquet on the empty seat beside her own. "And please remember what I told you."

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Elsa."

The limousine glided down the road with a soft purr. It was a personalized model that her father had given to her specially for her twentieth birthday. The reason he had done so was because the Yakuza had managed to subsume another gang that day, and one of its members happened to own a factory that produced luxury cars. Her father had ordered a classy indigo, since he knew she liked blue, and he would only have them in darker shades. The glass was also bullet-proofed, of course.

The church was quite some distance away, for the city was quite large. However, perhaps due to the speedy ability of her ride, or perhaps due to commuters had making way for her car, the girl all knew as the Nightmare King's daughter arrived at the steps of the cathedral in less than ten minutes.

The door was only opened after the carpet had been laid over the cobbled steps and Elsa made certain that she had given her aides sufficient praise to appease the head valets watching. After giving instructing them not to follow her, she entered the church.

The cathedral was an old one, and honestly it wasn't all that big. Candles still hung from the lamps on its stone walls, and also lined the alters. Sunlight filtered through the arched windows which once held colorful stain-glass mosaics that could no longer be afforded.

There was no one else inside as far as she could see, and that made her glad. She hated it whenever people either fled or bowed in her presence. The first time she had ever attended service, the entire congregation - a small group who still clung to faith because of, or despite of, the dark times in the city - had wordlessly shuffled their way from the pews to the door. She had thought it was because they hated her, but as she had gotten older, she had come to realize it was because they feared her.

Elsa didn't like it. She knew that her father relished in it, but she didn't. When she saw the terrified faces of people at the seats, or on the streets, or even in the mansion that was her home, she felt as if she indeed was a frighting creature - some kind of, well, monster.

She barely had any friends growing up. Already, she was quiet child, none to keen on human interaction because of her 'condition'. Additionally, no one would dare befriend the daughter of the Nightmare King. Her aides provided her company whenever she desired it, but she knew that before her they spoke haltingly and cautiously, and it hurt. She never mentioned it, of course, choosing to be alone as much as her father would permit, so she could pretend that indeed it was her choice.

She had only ever had one boyfriend. She did like him, and he was nice, but she eventually did found out that he only dated her because one of the Yakuza enforcers ordered him to. She ended it right then and there, because she believed the true relationships required mutual consent and contentment. The next day, the boy's family had to collect his body from the gutter.

 _Conceal. Don't feel._ The next time anyone had asked, she had answered that she wasn't interested in relationships.

Walking down down side aisle instead of through the nave, she headed straight to the apse of the cathedral. In between the altars for San Bacco and Santa Maria, a small booth had been set up. There were cards, flowers and candles lined around framed photographs bearing faces she didn't know. She laid her own bouquet to join the others. On a nearby table, there sat a small wooden box collecting donations for the repairs, and another for general offerings. Both were chained to the wall, but Elsa knew it was little deterrent for the nimble-fingered thieves of Burgeshima. So after cramming as many notes as she could in both boxes, she removed the small stick-it pad she often kept on her person, scribbling two short notes and sticking one on each boxes. Only fools would steal money given by the Nightmare Yakuza.

As much as she hated fear, perhaps it did have its uses.

Returning to the memorial, she picked up a splint from the holder. Holding its over the flame of one of the candle, she proceeded to light the other unlit candles on the rack.

"Praying for your father's soul, or your own?"

She almost dropped the splint in her shock. It puzzled her at first that someone would be so bold as to speak to her this way until she saw the speaker's face. The one person who did not quite fear her. "You startled me."

"You don't look startled," the tall brunette answered, rather amused. He eyed the display with a skeptical eye, then proceeded to use one of the more reflective photo-frames to adjust his hair. "But then, you are pretty good at acting. Nothing on me, though." He flashed a complacent smile at his reflection.

"Nothing on you indeed." There was a sardonic tinge in Elsa's tone. Returning to her task, she said, "To answer your question, I'm praying for those had lost their lives in the San Fransokyo Tragedy." One candle gained a flame. "And for the injured." She shook the splint, extinguishing it. "And for their families."

"That's what they're calling it now? 'The San Fransokyo Tragedy'? You would think they never had any disasters before," he scoffed, folding his arms as he watched her replacing the splint in the holder. "I mean, didn't the city almost get sucked up a wormhole before?"

"But the Big Hero 6 stopped that from happening. That's why it wasn't a disaster." Subconsciously, she began straightening out the gifts on the memorial, carefully to keep her gloved hands away from the flames. "On the other hand, people actually died in this one, and there was no way they could have known this was coming."

"You talk about this as if this is the biggest death count you've ever known."

Her muscles tensed. Spinning away from the marble counter, she gazed at him levelly. "It may not be, but it doesn't change the fact that it's violent and completely unnecessary. No thanks to your -" her words are as bitter as gall " - _hero_."

The young man in her company straightened himself up, the flippancy eroded in seconds. "You don't know that he's the one responsible."

"Don't you read the papers, Flynn?" Her whisper echoed against in the arched stone ceilings. "He was seen leaving the scene as the building collapsed. There were people dying in there, screaming for help, and he just walked away."

She shook her head, exasperated at his stubborn denial. Yet this was how it always was. Even as children, when Flynn was but a fresh initiate into the Yakuza, he was the impulsive one. It was only due to the mercy of his _senpai_ that he hadn't lost all his fingers - that, and he was a nifty pickpocket. On the flip side, she was always the steady one, guarded with emotions, speech and action. "What kind of hero are you really actually rooting for?"

"The building was the tallest building in San Fransokyo, Elsa. Hundreds of people worked there everyday, and hundreds more crossed the streets under it. Tell me then,-" he narrowed his eyes at her, challenging her in a way that no other person in Burgeshima would dare to, "-why did only thirty people die?"

She merely pursed her lips and folded her covered arms around her waist.

"I'll tell you why," Flynn went on, not waiting for a reply. "Because someone broke the fire alarm ten minutes before the bomb went off. Most people were evacuated safely. He didn't intend for there to be any casualties."

"But he was still seen walking away," Elsa protested.

"Well, he couldn't save them by then," defended Flynn hotly. "What would have him do? Burn his skin for theirs? He's not invincible, you know." The corner of his lip turned downwards. "He might not actually have superpowers. Unlike some people I know."

Elsa chose to ignore that, because she couldn't quite trust herself reply in a neutral manner. Instead, she skillfully changed topic, as she had learned in her years of handling her father's unsavory associates. "Then why do you trust him?"

There was a pause. Then, the reply came in an uncharacteristically small voice. "It just that he can, well, do whatever he wants to do. Go whenever he wants to go."

She couldn't miss the wistful note, so though he made no effort to explain further, she understood. They told them over and over - the Yakuza was home, the Yakuza was family. After so many years in training, fighting, and living in the Yakuza, it seemed that Flynn had never quite outgrown for his need for heroes. And did she detect a little envy in his voice?

So as she gently as she could, she advised, "Just don't let anyone hear you talk like that."

"Yeah, yeah." He shrugged nonchalantly and sure enough, flippant Flynn was back. "See you back around, Elsa- _san_." Mockingly, or perhaps affectionately, he gave a fanciful bow before disappearing around the corner to the aisle.

A ghost of a smile formed on her lips. '- _san_ ' was a term only used amongst equals, for that was how he saw them both. Others like her father, so obsessed with order and sophistication, would frown down at the breach of hierarchical rules, but she didn't. She didn't want to, because she thought Flynn as her often foolish but well-meaning equal. And indeed they had much in common; their mural distaste for how the gangs and syndicates ran the city, the disapproval of violence and ...feelings of entrapment.

It wasn't impossible to leave Burgeshima - for her, at least. Her father suggested several times that she should look over the universities in Ameripan to see if she was interested in completing her education. She qualified for most of them, and even if she didn't, the Yakuza had sufficient connections to get her wherever she wanted to go. But if she left, then who would be left to keep her father accountable? Who would keep him from starting off a full-fledge gang war? Who would protects innocents, the way the Guardians once did?

She wished she could just trust 13 to do that. But unlike Flynn, she couldn't ignore his misdeeds.

As Elsa walked away from the display, she hardly noticed the trail of ice that followed her glittering heels.

* * *

Life had many great uncertainties, but there was one thing he was absolutely sure of. He suffered from bad-naming disorder.

If it wasn't a thing yet, he was going to make it one, because in his case, it's absolutely legitimate.

Let's start with his name first: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Forty-third.

It's not a nickname. It's not even some family-imposed title. It's actually on his birth certificate - including the 'Forty-third part.' Just in case his last forty-two 'Hiccup' ancestors get accidentally revived in a purgatorial apocalypse and people couldn't tell them apart. Very practical, obviously. Good thing his driving license card was too small to fit the whole thing, so they chopped off 'the Forty-third' part. Now when people snatched his card, they could just comment about how 'Horrendous' his picture looked, and hey, did his cousins have the last name 'Cod' or 'Tuna'?

The first of his ancestors who had immigrated to Ameripan had been Norwegians actually, so the whole naming system was patronymic and rather confusing to use in English. Being horribly progressive people, they decided to adopt a family name, and an English one too. And being complete and utter buffoons, they named themselves after the slimy, legless creatures that they hauled up from the ocean bed every day.

Someone give theses guys anti-creativity prizes. If that wasn't a thing yet, he was going to make it a thing too.

When his father had told him about this as a child, Hiccup had decided that he hated his ancestors. Because it was obviously their fault that he was now genetically predisposed to suffer from and bestow bad names. That, and bearing the burden of being the Dragon Trainer.

Oh yeah, almost forgot about this part. Apparently, one of his ancestors was actually one of the greatest Viking Kings (so _great_ that you've _never_ heard of him) to ever rule the Barbaric Archipelago. According to legends, he had made peace between humans and dragons after years of bloody war. And here's the plot twist you all saw coming.

Hiccup the Forty-Third, modern geek, was the reincarnation of Hiccup the Third, King of the Wilderwest. Surprise!

Discovering this 'tidbit' was a complicated processed that occurred when Hiccup (the forty-third, that is) was fifteen. It had started when he took in a black stray on a particularly stormy night. The cat was cute, though injured - an amputation of its tail. He had gotten along very well with it, but he had known his dad hated animals of any kind. So after the storm ended, he dropped the cat off at an animal shelter.

But one day on the way to school, he bumped into the cat again. Giving in to the little critter's large emerald eyes, he took him to school, hid him in his backpack and snuck him snacks in class. Then he took the cat and dropped him at the shelter again.

But the cat came back again. And _again_. And _again_. And Hiccup ended up visiting the shelter so often that they offered him membership. He declined.

One time, the darned cat reappeared while he was working at Gobber's garage.

Gobber was his father's friend, and he was such a prominent figure in Hiccup's growing years that some automatically assumed he was Hiccup's uncle. Ever since his mother passed away and his father got caught up in police work, Gobber pretty much played babysitter. Being a fairly mercenary fellow though, he chose to extract his pay by making Hiccup work at his mechanics shop. It wasn't all that bad actually, since Hiccup was good with his hands, and he may or may not have had the opportunity to construct him own motorbike. Before it exploded, of course.

Anyway, so after he had reluctantly scooped the black cat and prepared to dump him back at the shelter, Gobber took a look at the cat, took a look at him, gave him an interrogation about the cat's origins and declared they were going on a road trip.

The hook-handed not-uncle had driven him to see this mute old lady called a Gothi - a wise woman. Through a haphazard translation by Gobber, she had asked for Hiccup to give the cat a name.

He had blinked. A name? Hiccup had shared very intently at the cat, and the cat had stared very intently back.

He could have picked any ordinary name like 'Fluffy', or 'old Tom', or 'Creepy-Black-Stalking-Scratching-Disappearing-Cat'. But for some reason, the name that left his mouth was - "Toothless."

He didn't know why he chose it - the cat had a perfect set of teeth. Bad-naming disorder struck again. Or so he thought. Then -

 _Boom! Crash! Bam!_

The cat had inexplicably transformed into a twenty-six feet tall dragon, complete with wings and fire-powers, though missing a tail fin. Oh, and retractable teeth. How's that?

Hiccup remembered having some stinky old herb shoved in his face, because he had passed out.

Long-story short: he discovered that he was supposed to a dragon trainer (stupid name. Why couldn't they call it 'dragon whisperer'?) like his ancestor. Toothless and him had some transcendental bond, which was as why they were both reincarnated at the same time. The Gods, who were the culprits to this crazy stuff, apparently had some great destiny planned out for him, but they weren't in the mood to disclose it at the moment. Oh, and even though he was a reincarnated Viking King, it didn't mean he had any claim on the Norwegian throne.

A real pity on the last one. It could have paid school bills.

He went to sleep that night feeling distinctly weirded-out. Eventually though, he got used to it.

More than that. He decided to wield it.

Gobber didn't tell Stoick about his son's inheritance, because he would certainly think that his hook-handed friend might just need a trip down to psychiatrist. And for Hiccup, well, it was hard enough telling his father that he had a cat and he was going to keep him.

Becoming a hero was, well, mainly because he just wanted to help. He knew that his father, as the commissioner of the Berkazaki Police Department, was overworked with the gangs and syndicates all over the city. So one day, while watching a new report of the Big Hero 6's latest success, it occurred to him that if Hiccup couldn't help him, well, maybe someone else could.

With Gobber's help, he created an full-length black Kelvar suit, plus helmet, designed for flexible flying, falling and, much to his reluctance, fighting. Toothless had a new tail fin constructed for him. Due to the complexities that went with the dragon's physiology, the only way they could work the tail fin at all was to have Hiccup manually control it via a step-peddle mechanism. It took lots and lots test-flights, and premium Icelandic cod, before the flying technique was perfected. The first time he and Toothless soared over the clouds was also the first time he believed that the Gothi wasn't completely pots about his reincarnation. Because man, it felt as if he knew exactly how to do this.

The first couple of heroics were a mixture of failure and embarrassment, but eventually Hiccup got a hang of it and actually managed to save some people from really tight-spots. Folks started calling him 'Hero'. It was cool to be have title that was attributed to the great supers of the Golden Age.

Well, that aside, he would never forgive the press for the stupid names that they gave him - and I mean, _never_. After saving a bunch of people from a fire, the reporters had managed to corner him for a while and he had decided to humor them, if only to build his image. So when one reporter had asked him Toothless was a dinosaur, he had stiffly replied that dinosaurs couldn't fly and Toothless was a Night Fury. However, he didn't know that another reporter had started asking what he called their little fighting duo team, and had taken that answer to be the answer to her question. So the next day, 'Night Fury beats the Building Fire with Fire' was splashed on the headlines. He went down to the news studio to try to amend it, and then the flood gate of stupid names just rushed open.

 _It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Dragonboy!_

 _Reptile Raiders._

 _Berserk Berkazakians._

 _The Dinosaur Duo._

 _Dragon Dude and Dude Dragon._

 _The Dynamic Dino-rider and his faithful dinosaur._

 _Dino-might!_

 _Eragon._

 _Jurassic Junkies._

 _Puff the Magic Dragon. (What?)_

 _Flying Barney the Black-Winged Dinosaur. Plus Dinoboy._

The press enjoyed torturing him.

Finally, somebody decided to just call Toothless and him 'Knight and Fury'. It wasn't the best name, but after all the others he had seen, he settled for it.

The press was annoying, but the police were nasty ones. His dad had the one who signed his arrest warrant in those early days. So between school, 'hero-ing', escaping from his dad's forces and hiding his and Toothless' secret identity, he had a pretty crazy life.

But was it good? It depends.

Over the last year of heroics, so much had changed. Crime rate in Berkazaki had been halved. He had discovered other hidden dragons other than Toothless. He had created a fire-sword powered by Toothless' saliva and a shield made from dragon-metal. He had gained a mentor that he didn't even want, and was forced by said-mentor to pick up self-defense classes. He had teamed up with Big Hero 6 twice (it was awesome). His one-time unattainable crush had turned from his foe to his friend to his occasional sidekick in crime fighting.

He also was now responsible for the death of another teenager.

It had been the day that people stopped calling him hero. It had also been the day that his father found his night-time activities. It had also been the day he lost his left leg. Not the whole of it - just below the joint, but still -

He didn't like to talk about it.

His father had tried to ban him from his 'vigilantism' - the last thing he needed was for people to find out that the commissioner's son was a law-breaker, and a 'murderer' too. And in a uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, Stoick may or may not have revealed that he no longer desired for Knight kill, or be killed, especially now that he was ...crippled.

Did he say that? Yes, he did.

But like he told his father; they were crime-fighters. It was an occupational hazard.

Maybe for the first time in years, the burly commissioner actually listened to his scrawny, fragile son.

He didn't know how other teen heroes had handled it their lives, but it was always infinitely easier to fight crime when you had people doing it with you. He had Toothless always flying and fighting by his side. He had Astrid ready to cover his rear every time he disappeared from school. He had Gobber who helped fix and improve his equipment. He had an annoying but strangely knowledgeable mentor who made sure he improved. He had Fishlegs who brought him intel. He had allies in other cities, and quite importantly, he had his dad's support.

Of course, being a supportive parent didn't meant that his dad _wasn't_ a normal parent-

"Dad, for the last time, I'm not skipping school! It's spring break!"

The passenger sitting across him on the carriage looked slightly alarmed. It was fortunate that they were the only ones in the whole carriage. If not, this would have been a whole lot more embarrassing. Hiccup lowered his voice, mumbling into the mouthpiece, "Yes, yes, I've done my homework. All of it."

Then, a strained yowl emerged from the pet carrier next to him. There was a rule that any pets brought on the bullet train had to go in a carrier, so whether he liked it or not, thathad been the cramped residence of Toothless for the last three hours. Obviously, the furry black mammal insisted on making his discomfort known.

"No, I don't know anymore called Alzahar. What kind of name is that anyway?"

Toothless, seeing that his master was ignoring him, proceeded to yowl a little louder.

"Shush, Toothless," he told the cat, before latching the phone to his ear again. "Sorry, dad, what was that?"

The other passenger had returned to reading his book, though still looking miffed at the teenager on the phone.

"Dad, did you check under the sink? No, for real, did you check under the sink?"

The cat in the cage made a pathetic whimper that earned just a little sympathy from the boy. Hiccup mouthed at the cat, _"Two more hours"_ then said out loud, "Dad, you put it in the washing machine before you put it in the dryer. No, you don't need to put washing liquid in the dryer."

The cat begun to knock his head against the metal bars of the cage, letting out,whines as he did. The other passenger was looking very, very irritated.

"I don't know how to use an Android, dad. Can't you just search it online?"

Toothless started to howl. The other passenger frowned.

"...you don't know how to find the Internet on your phone." Hiccup dragged a palm down his face, sighing. "Right."

Toothless was making noises that sounded vaguely in between screeching and shrieking. The other passenger opened his mouth to complain when -

"NO, DAD! DON'T DO IT!"

The carriage suddenly fell into stunned silence. Hiccup removed the phone from his ear, pressing the mouthpiece to his chest. Turning to the pet in the cage, he said rather shortly, "Really, I'm trying to keep my dad from killing himself. Do you mind, you useless reptile?"

The other passenger appeared gravely concerned.

Fortunately for said passenger, the train had just pulled up at the next station, and the cabin doors slid open. The old fellow hastily rose to his feet and almost ran out of the carriage, leaving behind the strange boy and his hysterical pet.

When Hiccup spoke into the phone again, he managed to convince his father that dumping the entire detergent bottle into the washing machine might just flood their house in foam and not necessarily wash the blood of clothes. It'd be terribly embarrassing if the Berkazaki's formidable commissioner was killed by bubbles.

Finally, after all washing malfunctions were settled, Hiccup was allowed to hang up. With a long sigh, he slumped himself back against the velvet seat. Glancing up the screen near the front of the carriage, he noted that they had stopped at Korobe. That meant one more stop to Burgeshima.

He wasn't in a habit of crossing territories, because it annoyed him every time someone else did that to Berkazaki (cough-cough-Big-Hero-6-cough), but he supposed that it was time he checked up on the mysterious 'hero' of the most notorious crime hole in Ameripan. It was also a sort of favor to Hiro. Both of them were the same age, but while Hiccup spent the last year struggling with literature and taming Toothless, Hiro spent the last year building his own company, appearing on talk-shows and turning into a multimillionaire. Yeah, life wasn't fair.

Of course, that meant it was also tougher for Hiro sneak off during work hours to go on long investigations. The San Fransokyian could have asked any of his other teammates for this mission, but perhaps for something more convert, it was better to ask a guy who dressed in a black on a regular basis. Not that Hiccup wasn't going to do it himself.

Oh, yeah. They did know each other's secret identities. They bumped into each other during a science fair months ago and Toothless just went all crazy over Hiro, because he had recognized the other boy's scent. After the prodigy found out that his own identity had been uncovered, he did some miraculous hacking and dug up everything about Knight and Fury - even down to his shoe size, whatever that was for. There was mutual trust, and mutual potential blackmail, so all was fair and square.

Anyway, the mission wasn't really a mission as much as a reconnaissance; find stuff about 13 to add to Fishleg's current profile of him, discover his powers, if any, and most importantly, any weaknesses.

Then it occurred to Hiccup that his carriage was empty. Really. Completely.

He peered down the aisle, looking from left to right. From where he sat, he could see through the glass connecting doors that the adjacent carriages were also empty.

Because no one in their sane mind would go to Burgeshima willingly.

There were stories about the city - violence, crime, vendettas, chaos - but they were just stories, right?

But thinking back about how strong Helheim's Gate had once been in his own town and the insidious Red Death himself, maybe the stories weren't completely exaggerated. Maybe he was plunging himself into some terrifying hell-hole that had no return.

"But I guess that's why they need us then, huh, bud?" he told the cat in the cage. "Everyone needs a hero."

Toothless had made almost what looked like a shrugging motion, before curling himself up in a ball, mewing sorrowfully about his entrapment.

Hiccup chuckled at the feline's self-pity. Glancing around the cabin once more, he muttered to himself, "Well, it won't hurt if no one knows."

He unlatched the hook of the cage door and that very second the cat sprung out. Dancing excitedly on Hiccup's lap and almost knocking him over, Toothless proceeded to leap from velvet seat to velvet seat, enjoying the smooth sensation beneath his paws. He crooned in approval as he settled himself down on the chair opposite Hiccup's own.

"Well, just no kitty-litter, okay?" The boy instructed, as he hooked the carrier door back up. The cat yawned quite nonchalantly, stretching itself luxuriously almost as if to imply ' _no promises_ '.

Just an automated voice announced that the train doors were closing, someone suddenly dashed into the cabin. Just a second later, the metal door slid shut.

"Ha! Beat that!" The new passenger crowed with triumph, pointing at the door and cackling at the same time.

Now it was Hiccup's turn to look gravely concerned.

The fellow in question was tall, lanky guy. His hair was as white as snow, but there was no doubt he was probably only eighteen - nineteen at most. His clothes seemed rather ragged, if the frays at the ends of his blue hoodie and the patches on his trousers were anything to go by. And the lack of shoes. Riding by bullet wasn't cheap, so Hiccup half-wondered if this might be some hobo who snuck into the station.

And what was with the staff? It looked like a shepherd's crook or something. Was he a farmer? Did they have farmers in Korobe?

'Hobo' seemed like a really good guess for now.

The white-haired fellow decided that pulling faces at the door was no longer as fun as it once was, so he strolled down the aisle and stopped at Hiccup was.

"Hello," he greeted.

"Hello," Hiccup echoed uncertainly. He then noticed the other boy was looking at Toothless. "Oh, um, if you're really worried about him, I can-"

"Nah, it's fine." The boy waved it off, plopping down a seat on the opposite end of the aisle. He rested his staff on the empty seat next to him. "I had a friend who was really afraid of dogs though - Rottweilers, especially." The boy smiled, only for it to quickly fall away.

Hiccup considered inquiring further into it, then decided not. Maybe it was personal or something. Still, this was a good opportunity to test his interrogating skills - see how much he could find out about this guy without getting him angry. He found himself asking, "So, is the staff some kind of crutch?"

The fellow gave him a blank look.

"You know." Hiccup shrugged, trying to act as asking random strangers about their staffs was perfectly normal. "For walking."

"Oh, that." The white-haired guy shook his head. "It's just for-" he began to count off his fingers "-companionship, carrying things, self-defense, hockey-stick, baseball bat, getting laundry, scaling walls, chair and so on."

"Oh, cool." Hiccup lost him at 'hockey-stick'. Yeah, so probably a hobo.

"What are you going to Burgeshima for?" It was the boy's turn to ask. "I don't thinks there're any other stops after that, right?"

"Right. Um-" Hiccup noted that Toothless was staring out of the window, entranced by how the pictures seemed to be changing the train shot forward, "-school report. About the city and stuff."

"Wow, I didn't know people did that kind of thing in school nowadays." The guy sounded rather amazed, as if he hadn't been to school for a long, long time. Maybe he was a dropout or something.

Well, he didn't seem like the threatening stereotype, so Hiccup decided to ask the question back, "What about you? Why are you going to Burgeshima?"

It seemed as if a shadow fell on the boy's face and Hiccup could sense the unwillingness in his answer, "It's - it's my home."

"Oh." Trying to remember all the probing techniques that Astrid had practiced with him, Hiccup questioned in a casual tone, "So, you've been out of town for sometime then?"

The boy nodded, his face brightening a little. "I've been traveling."

 _'Through flyovers, underpasses or hovels?'_ a cynical part of him asked. The nicer part of him asked aloud, "Around Ameripan?"

The white-haired fellow laughed at that, throwing his head back. "More like around the world."

It was like the circuits in Hiccup's brain got short-circuited. The word 'Hobo' was on the verge of being cancelled out. Maybe this guy was a -

"Backpacker?"

Puzzlement was all over the other boy's mien.

Hiccup cleared his throat before clarifying, "You're a backpacker?"

"Oh." The boy scrunched up his face, running a hand through his white locks. "Well, kind of. No backpack though. Just me and my staff."

"Very economical, I guess." Conclusion: Globetrotting Hobo. New quest: Motive. "So, why go home now? Got tired for traveling?"

His fellow passenger went silent, and for some reason Hiccup felt as if the cabin got chiller. The white-haired boy scooped his staff back into his hand, holding it out the way warrior did to their swords in movies.

An oddly mature voice came from the young body, "Got tired of running."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **National Supers Agency (NSA) - this actually exists in the Incredibles.**

 **Yakuza - Japanese mafias. They still exist in Japan today, and they can be very, very powerful. I need to do more research on these guys, though, because I'm not completely sure about the rankings. However, I do know that members in Yakuza's cut off a bit of their pinky (ouch) whenever they fail at a task, which is why Elsa mentioned that Flynn was lucky not to have lost all his fingers. Yep, all his fingers.**

 **In this story though, the Nightmare Yakuza in Burgeshima would take some inspiration from both Japanese Yakuzas and American-Italian Mafias, because I'm still doing the Jap-American fusion. That's why Elsa's a Roman Catholic. Who uses Japanese terms. And talks about initiations rituals. It's complicated.**

 **Yes, Burgeshima had heroes. Emphasis on 'had'.**

 **Elsa in this AU is inspired by DC comic's Helena Bertenelli/Huntress, who is also the daughter of a Italian mob boss turned vigilante. Elsa may also be inspired by... Talia Al'Ghul (the villainess in Dark Knight Rises.)**

 **Jack in this AU is inspired by, believe or not, Superman.**

 **Up next: Probably introducing the two other girl heroes left, and maybe we might see the Big Hero 6 and catch up with Team Kristanna. Nah, it won't be romantic yet.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **This one was written as a gift to the fam man, a faithful and an avid reader of my stories. I'd like to thank you really for all your encouragement and for the fun we share in idea exchanges.**

 **But really, I'm not going to write anymore till December.**

 **So the fan man, your gift is...just a little more frustration. Still, all the best for your mission trip.**

 **So, answers to Guest reviews:**

 **Guest (18 Oct): Thank you very much! I hope you liked this chapter.**

 **Guest (20 Oct): I really love details, and don't worry, it gets 'worse'. Everyone has a very different origin story, so I hope it would be interesting. There are quite a few superhero AUs hanging around, but I just was just inspired to try to combine existing animated hero films with into a universe that ROBTFD can operate in.**

 **Please review! I love reviews! Even if it's a critique! Make a stressed-out student happy!**

 **...Yep, that was stupid. Okay, I'm done embarrassing myself.**


	3. Chpt 3: Issues with Mums

If San Fransokyo was made of technology and Burgeshima made of crime, then Dunbuoka was made of money. In particular, old money.

Out of the many cities on the West Coast of Ameripan, Dunbuoka was one of the richest by virtue of its select residents alone. In the past, aristocratic immigrants from various European nations had settled there. Titles meant little in the New World, but their gold was as good as anyone else's and the money went rolling out. As a result, investment turned to borrowing turned to banks to turned corruption and high-class extravagance. Like all cities, the rich in Dunbuoka had it good, and the poor were robbed so that they could keep it that way.

It wasn't that Dunbuoka governance was corrupted. In a matter of fact, Mayor Elinor Dunbroch was possibly the best person ever to be elected in her post. With a vision to clean up the city and to create equity, quite a number of high-fliers disliked her precisely because of her interference.

The root of the problem really was the connections. There was always this CEO and that board-member who called up the offices and politely dumped their unwanted opinions on how this or that policy should be done, all under the guise of good intentions when it was far too obvious that they were just protecting their own wealth. They had the means to add pressure too. Implementation of new programmes needed often needed funding and political support, and the wealthy too often the ones who provided that. Somehow though, the Mayor balanced both the desires of the ostensibly rich and needs of the common folks, and none could doubt that there only a few who could do her job.

But progress was slow. There was a growing uneasiness as the inequality got worse and worse. The peace that this city had enjoyed for so long was on the verge of breaking. Even the Mayor, as great as her intentions were, could not keep a lid on the dirty exchanges that went on under the tables.

A typical character of Dunbuokan high-society one could be introduced to was this particular pudgy man: opulently-dressed, short, unattractive, roughly in his mid-forties, carring himself with pompous airs, speaking fine words and quoting quotes he didn't quite understand. Brought up with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had little cares for the common folk other than how to extort more green from them.

This pudgy man had name, yes, but like many other characters in Dunbuoka, his name is quite insignificant to our story. I'm sure you have no interest in knowing what this particular man had for breakfast, or how he had managed to scoop up a profit of twenty million dollars with a single phone call, or the liver operation he had three months ago.

No, you're probably wondering about how exactly he had ended up dangling three hundred feet over Dunbuoka's central business district, when he should have been having his third serving of _wagyu_ steak at a Michelin star diner.

The particular building of interest was an office building owned by Fat pudgy man (for henceforth that shall be what we call him). It was in the process of construction, but night time was off-hours for the building crew, so obviously, the figures in the scene were trespassing. Fat pudgy man was now suspended on the end of operating arm of the crane, his feet kicking the air below him frantically. Clamped around his wrists were metal cuffs, strapped to the hook of the crane, and it was strange that he wriggled against them. After all, they were all that kept him from plunging down to a smattering death.

 _"A name."_ The one who placed him there stood in the shadows, away from the glaring lights. She wasn't actually all that tall, and even when standing on the roof ledge, her stature wasn't all that imposing. Yet there was something about her - perhaps the billowing cloak, or how the darkness hid everything about her but except the glowing ultramarine oculars - that just sent shivers down one's spine.

Fat pudgy man gave no answer, faking bravado though cold sweat was already dripping down his chin, soaking his Egyptian silk collar through and through. It was a foolish move of course. The one who was called the Wisp raised her bow, the tip of her arrow catching light as she repeated, her voice no louder than a hiss but no milder that a growl, _"A NAME!"_

"I've-I've have nothing to say to no-good, law-breaking cretin like you," Fat pudgy man answered. Ironic. I know.

Anyway, it was the wrong answer. The arrow flew.

It didn't hit the man, but that didn't mean it missed its mark. With a clink, the cuffs snapped apart. With a scream, fat pudgy man began his rapid descent towards the evening traffic. The Wisp watched with cold interest, the blue fire in her eyes narrowing as she creased her brows together. If you watched her carefully, you would note how her lips moved slightly, mouthing numbers before a flash of blue light engulfed her, and she was gone.

A moment later, you would note that the flash of blue light appeared again. Only this time, it happened ten feet above the rooftop, and out of it emerged Fat pudgy man. He plummeted downwards, still squealing like the pig he was. His fall was broken when his lumpy body met the lid of one of the giant metal container.

Just as Fat pudgy man landed, a flash blue light appeared again just a few feet over the ground. Out of this one, the Wisp reappeared, dropping onto the container as lightly as a cat. Fat pudgy man groaned as he rubbed the sores his clammy, oily fleshed that been bruised, obviously unused to the rough treatment. Just as he sat up, he felt something sharp point at his shoulder.

 _"Swatch, ye piece ay filth."_ He could see no face in the frame of the cowl, just the flickering blue just reflecting off the clenched teeth. _"Ah dornt hae time tae waste."_ The voice was harsh, crude, like much of the speech of the commoners in Dunbuoka. The mayor had said at one point that the street brogue was the reason behind the rich-poor divide in the city. Fine speech was a tool of power, and the brogue was a symbol of inferiority. Yet when such words came from the throat of the gleaming-eyed ghoul, they haunted the sleep of the opulent.

Fat Pudgy man was trembling as the hooded figure drew nearer, her flame in her eyes almost luminous. _"Ye better gezz me whit Ah want, or th' next time,"_ the blue narrowed into slits, _"ye droppin' fur real."_

With a stutter, Fat pudgy man gave in. A name was provided, and after additional prodding, some more details were added. Following that, the Will-o-Wisp grabbed the sweaty collar of Fat pudgy man's shirt and with a burst of blue, transported them both to the police department. There she dumped him in a cell with a couple of hoodsters, dropped a note explaining his misdealings for the last week and who to call to check on it. Light engulfed the Wisp, and she vanished once again. One of the police officers, without fail, would cluck his tongue and mutter, "there goes justice" while another would tell the commissioner, who would yell at everyone and ask why didn't anyone shoot her while she was there.

Far, far away from the main city of Dunbuoka, where there was nothing but open grassland bushy hills, stood a little summerhouse. It was not uncommon for the rich of Dunbuoka to have homes away from homes, especially one got tired of high-society and the scrubby politics that went with it. This particular summerhouse, however, had not been occupied for some time. The mayor had been far too busy to take her children for vacation anymore due to her busy work schedule. Besides, her sons were preferred indulging themselves through virtual gaming, and her daughter was often caught up in her 'extracurricular activities'.

Said daughter was exhausted after spending a night out, so she quickly remove her cloak, her costume and leather boots, stuffing them all in the basement of the house. The arrows went in a special closet in her old bedroom, under the false bottom, and the bow was hidden in a box in the grand piano. No one had visited the summerhouse for ages, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Merida went to the playroom next. It had been built after the birth of her brothers, and it was supposed to be in a way a toddler's paradise. 3-to-4 year old toys had still been strewn carelessly about, gathering dust after years of being untouched. She headed immediately to the large toy black board meant for meaningless doodles, using the duster to wipe off the scribbles from her last case. If her mother ever knew about how she did book-keeping for her moonlight activities, she would nag her to know end for the lack of organization. Really, how did she expect to be a good crime-fighter if she erased all her notes after each case? Well, administration was so tiresome, and Merida hated filing and labeling, so she did away with it all together. It wasn't the wisest, perhaps, but she had enough of 'being organized' in normal life. She didn't need it here.

After picking up the chalk, Merida pressed its powdery tip against her lip, thinking. After a moment, she wrote the first word on the right side of the board. ' _Krei_ '. She drew a couple of arrows, before hastily scribbling _'technology', 'science', 'rich', 'corrupted?_ '.

Then she shifted herself to the left of the board. ' _13_ '. She wrote _'mystery', 'killer', 'vigilante?', 'powers?'_

She wrote the name that Fat pudgy man had given her in between both them. ' _Black_ '. She had nothing else to write.

She drew a set of arrows connecting all of them together, and made one bunch that just pointed to a large question mark.

It didn't make sense. Why would some vigilante kill some random CEO? Krei had dirt on him, yes, but so did most of the rich in Dunbuoka. There had to be a motive, and she had to find out. Because if there was no motive, well then...

13 would be more dangerous than she had previously imagined.

Sighing, she forced herself to sit down and ponder. If 13 could target Krei, he could target anyone. To someone with blind hatred to corrupted figures of powers, there may not have sufficient discretion to differentiate between the 'good' rich and the 'bad' rich. And though she had much quarrel with her mum, she had no intention of losing both parents.

Before she teleported back to her home in the city, Merida indulged herself in a walk down to the gardens. The old benches and umbrellas still stood there, yellowed in the rain and bleached in the sun, but they were still sturdy as can be. She found the biggest chair out of the lot and sat herself down on it. In normal clothes, the night wind made her shiver, but curling herself up against the armchair, she could imagine the cold away. Her eyes turned upwards and she found herself speaking up to the stars. It was stupid, but it was as close to heaven as she could get anyway. It's not like the grave held a real body.

"Hey, da'." The brogue was dropped. She had to admit, it didn't come so easily to her anymore. Her mother had been actively forcing it out of her so speaking the way her father taught her to was no longer as intuitive as before. "It's me, Merida."

The stars did not answer, but she had heard their silence before.

"Sorry that I haven't been around for sometime. Been with exams and stuff," she continued on causally, if only a little sadly. "There's still half a year left, I know, but she wants me to 'start thinking about the future'. Again."

The redhead rolled her eyes, even if there was no one around to see it. "She wants me to take over the company. I told her, over and over - why not let the boys do it? But then she's always like -" she drew herself up straight, pulling the long face that too often marked her mother's own, "-'Merida, it's going to be ten years before any of your brothers even understand what 'revenue' is. I'm already burning candle of both ends with being mayor and running the company, so it's high to you started doing your part in the family!' "

She groaned, tugging the ends of her curls, her lip curling into a frown. "She always goes on and on and on about how I'm so irresponsible and immature. When I said, 'Why not pass the leadership of the company to someone else who actually wants it?" Then she looked at me as if I told her I shook hands with the devil and said, "Well, unless you're planning to marry that person, you put that idea out of your head this instance." _Marry_!" Merida shuddered. "I went 'What's marriage got to do with anything? I'm seventeen!' And then she told me the only way the company's changing hands is via marriage. To keep the company in the family, she said. What are we? Medieval times?"

Merida threw her hands in the air, gesticulating wildly as to emphasize her fury. "What's worse is that she's seriously thinking that I'm gonna be incompetent, because she keeps setting up dates for me with _'eligible young men_ '." She punctuated each word through clenched teeth. "I admit, I suck at business stuff. But you did too, didn't you da'?" Her eyes turned to the sky, waiting for a response though she knew there would be. "You wanted to be a boxer. That's why you married Mum. She runs the company like a duck in water. Besides, the, well, -" she allowed herself a slight smile "-the sappy romance stuff."

She leaned back into the chair, wrapping her knees in her arms, the brief amusement fading to a solemn contemplation. "Sometimes I wish I was real super, da'. Born in a family of supers, like those guys in Metroville. I mean, wouldn't it be swell if the boys had super speed, or morphing powers, or they could set themselves on fire?" She paused. "You know what, maybe that's a really bad idea."

"But I wish Mum could be more like Mrs. Incredible." Absentmindedly, one of her fingers went to twirling one of copper coils. "I bet she's all cool with her kids and let's them whatever they want. They are supers, after all. Real supers." Her other hand went to fiddling with the silver pendant around her neck. It had been a gift from her mother on her fourteenth birthday. It was an heirloom from her side of the family, she had said, and it represented the blooming of a girl into a young woman.

"Anyway, I better go," Merida said finally, jumping off the chair. "I told mum that I've gone for a jog. She's probably fretting her head off if I don't get home soon. After all,-" she shot a cheeky wink to the star, "-the Will-o-wisp has been seen picking off random rich folk and dumping them in jail." She shrugged. "I won't be coming here for a while though. Mum's sending me as to 'represent' her for some company meeting. Dinner. Thingy. Teach me some responsibility, she said." Merida folded her arms and huffed. "Well, I suppose I need a legitimate reason for being in Burgeshima for a while. Got this nutcase to chase down, you see."

She touched one arm of the large wooden chair gently, her eyes getting just the slightest wet. "Miss ye, da'."

A blue glow surrounded her, and the girl disappeared.

* * *

This was totally crazy. Mother would kill her.

But she needed to do this. It was her responsibility as the hero of Korobe.

Well, Rapunzel did hope she was a hero. Mother said that she wasn't that level yet. Right now, she was still at vigilante status - an unwanted freak interfering with the law. The police had tried to arrest her once or twice, but she had managed to escape. Some people liked her, some people didn't, but most people thought she was just a pretty face with a hot bod in skin-tight spandex.

Rapunzel didn't have anything against being pretty, but it was irritating at how the press always tried to sexualize her image. Really, there were too many that made all kinds of puns about how her light-powers made her like the sun, and being like the sun made her 'hot', and from then on everything else just gets demeaning. It was supposed to be compliment, her mother told her, but how was anyone going to take Solaris seriously if she kept being portrayed as some brainless bimbo?

It didn't help that too many of the hoodlums actually read those papers (yeah, I know right?). There were the gentlemanly criminals who always treated her respectfully - as much as they could at least. But too often there were the crude, mannerless variety who thought themselves so manly by making passes at a crime-fighter. If it wasn't deemed unnecessary violence, she wanted to punch the living daylights out of them. Literally.

She really needed to rethink her costume. It was too tight, too revealing. It was great for motility, but it wasn't as if she was doing _Cirque de Soliel_. Besides, it gave little protection from knives, bullets and bruises; she had enough scars to prove it. She heard that there were some heroes who wore Kelvar, but she had no idea where to get that. Others like the Big Hero 6 were said to wear some special carbon-fiber armor - super-light and heavy-duty - but it's not like she could just call them to make her some. That would be far too forward. She might have met them once, but she knew that she wasn't quite their caliber yet.

Sometimes, she wondered if she could really count as a superhero. She didn't even have a nemesis! Big Hero 6 were always up against the Fujitas or the Bonsai Bombers, or so forth. Knight and Fury in Berkazaki had the Red Death and the Beserkers. The Wisp didn't have a current one, but no one could forget that it was she who finally apprehended that serial killer dubbed the 'Demon Bear.' Don't even get started on all the guys the Incredibles had fought. Solaris only caught on pickpockets, snatch thieves and bank robbers. No wonder nobody thought she'd amount to much.

May she should try leather. Yeah. Leather sounded good. Maybe if she wore leather, people would think of her as edgy, rough, serious, maybe even badass. Not like princess, pearly sparkles, or bikini-model blonde.

But making a new costume would have to wait till she got back to Korobe, and even after she went home, there would be other things to tackle. For instance, Mother reacting to her running away.

Yep. This was totally crazy. Mother would kill her.

But she couldn't sit idle while some so-called hero went blasting up buildings for no apparent reason. Even if she didn't really work with the police, she did believe in accountability. If the authorities couldn't keep a hero in check, then other heroes had to do it. It was her responsibility as a hero to find this '13', learn his intentions and assess if he might pose as threat in the future. And, well, maybe she could convince him to change his crime-fighting techniques to be something less...harmful.

Mother didn't agree with her, of course. Mother said that this whacko vigilante was too dangerous for her. She wasn't strong enough to face him.

But that's how it always with Mother. Mother didn't want her to be a hero, but she couldn't help but feel that her gifts were meant to be shared. She had the power of the sun at her finger tips! (Light-wise, at least. She didn't do heat. She didn't know if she could do heat.) She could break laws of reflection and refraction! She could create solid light structures with her mind! With power like that, why shouldn't she be a hero?

Because Mother said so. Mother was just be protective, but really, sometimes Rapunzel just wished she would learn to let her go. That's why she had come to Burgeshima. Alone. Without telling her. Maybe if she proved to Mother that she could handle a simple field trip, Mother would see that she wasn't too weak to be a hero. A real hero. Not just a doll playing dress up. Not a delusional kid in spandex.

Dismounting her bike, Rapunzel removed her helmet, shaking her short brown hair as she did. She just had it done two days ago - a cute pixie cut that was apparently the 'in' thing for the season. Mother told her that was vain and silly to just do what everyone else did, but if she was acting on sly, she needed to look normal. No quirky glasses, or shabby smocks, or going barefooted. Just sneakers, checkered tights, a T-shirt which graphic 'Mona Lisa' and pink polyester overcoat. She needed to look normal. She needed to be normal.

But somehow she couldn't help feel that she was anything but normal. People that walking on the streets watched her with alarm. Little children had gone quiet when her bike zoomed down the crooked roots. Even the old men with their papers stopped to look at her before. It was like that they've never seen a motorbike before.

Or was it the pink coat? She should have taken the blue one. Maybe pink was too bright.

She strapped the helmet to the handle, like she had always done. Seeing that there were no marks that indicated the need for parking coupons, she decided that leaving the bike by the roadside couldn't hurt. There are other vehicles parked by the road too, so it couldn't be illegal. Grabbing her satchel from the boot, she swung the strap over her head. Taking in a huge breath, she walked towards the shop. 'Oaken's Provision' - that didn't sound so menacing, did it?

She heard a small squeak on her shoulder and found herself exchanging nervous looks with the chameleon seated there.

It made smile a little. She needn't fear - after all, she wasn't alone. Pascal was here with her. Who cared if he was only a six-inch amphibian? He was her constant companion; her personal cheerleader; her best friend.

Her _only_ friend, actually.

"It's just a shop, right, Pascal?" she asked the creature, with slight apprehension. The spiny reptile gave a firm nod. The brunette sucked in a breath. She could build giant structures of light and punch criminals in their guts, but talking to strangers was still a challenge.

"I can this," she said, more to herself than to the chameleon. Climbing up the steps, she pushed the glass door open.

"Yoo-hoo!" The owner of the establishment immediately greeted her. "Big winter blowout!"

Rapunzel stared at the large man behind the counter, not quite understanding. The chameleon was equally fazed by the foreign phrase.

The store owner went on as if he saw no shock in her face. Genially, he continued his advertisement in his thick accent, "We're clearing stock for all winter gear - all mittens, scarves and boots are at half price." He held out an odd looking bottle. "For every purchase, a free rheumatism remedy - of my own invention - is provided.

"Um, no thank you," the girl finally found her voice. Forcing herself to look at the burly man in the eye, she stammered, "Do-do you have a charging station?"

The man nodded. "At the back of the shop, near the magazine racks. It takes only quarters."

"Th-thank you." Rapunzel made a little bow, before scuttling quickly to the magazine section, out of sight of the store-owner. Huffing a sigh of relief, she told her chameleon, "Well, that wasn't too bad. Right?"

Pascal, who had chosen appropriately to blend his scales to match that of her coat, made a dubiously shrug.

The charging point looked rather old and rusted, with the various wires all twisted together. It was only after lots of careful untangling did she find one cable that actually could fit the porthole on her phone. Slipping a coin into the machine, she plugged the device in. The black screen, which had been the source of her frustration all afternoon, finally lit back up and promised that it was on its way to being useful again.

Charging was going to take a while, so Rapunzel decided to take a look at the magazine shelf. There were the usual assortment of cooking magazines, automobile magazines and M-rated magazines which were inappropriately close to some colorful children's mags. There were quite a healthy assortment of manga available, so she flitted through those. While she was busy trying to wrap her head around the idea that notebook could be used to kill people - and not by whacking them on the head - she heard the reptile on her shoulder make a squeak.

"What's up, Pascal?" The blonde jerked her head up from the comic book in surprise. Pascal jumped up and down excitedly, using his tail to point to something on the rack. Slowly replacing the manga back to where she had found it, she found that her green had discovered a notable magazine. She removed it carefully as not to bend the glossy cover.

It was unmistakable. She recognized the white X in the center of his grey chest plate, with three vertical lines drawn below it - roman numerals of his name. It was merely an artist's sketch, but it's the clearest depiction she had ever seen of this enigmatic vigilante. And she should know, because she had spent three hours scrolling through search engines, and here he was splashed on the cover of a magazine like some notorious celebrity. Splashed across the image were red words in bold - 'Desecrator', 'Destroyer' and much insults.

She flitted through the magazine, trying to find the article that was marked on the cover. It turned out however that entire magazine was a special on him. Without really noticing, Rapuznel found herself reading stories she had never found on the Internet.

When news channels outside Burgeshima talked about 13, they usually depicted him as inevitable - not nice, not evil. Just inevitable. After all, with crime having such a strong hold over the town, it wasn't hard to imagine that someone would get tired of it all and take justice into his own hands. His extreme methods? Well, most people deemed it forgivable considering the state of town. The press was usually on 13's side - better be with the 'no-hero' than with the criminals.

But in this magazine, he was apparently the monster.

One column described how he opened fire in restaurant full of people and when he left, the trail of bloody foot prints he left behind was at least fifty feet long. Another gory account detailed how he clobbered his victims to death. With a horse shoe. It took three hours for them die.

Rapunzel wanted to screw her eyes shut, pull them away from the dreaded magazine, but it was as if she was possessed. She couldn't stop flipping from page to page, reading about murder after bloody murder, with an assortment of illustrated weapons, backdrops, even one or two photos. She could hear Pascal curling on her shoulder with fright - even he was uncomfortable. But her fingers couldn't stop moving and her eyes couldn't stop scanning each page.

Guns. Scarves. Hammers. Skewers. 13 used them all. He was the bringer of violence, doom and death.

Vigilante was too mild a word for him.

When she reached the last page, the magazine fell out of her hands, crashing to the ground. Rapunzel's breaths heavy, uneven. She gripped the side of the magazine rack, her eyes still wide with horror as she stared at the sketch of the creature that people thought was Burgeshima's hero. His mask was made of steel, with black hollowed spaces for where is eyes, yet she couldn't help but feel as if he was glaring at her. Judging her. Sentencing her, with his iron fist of justice.

Shutting her eyes, she bent down to pick the magazine, intending to shove back on the rack and never lay eyes on such a horrible thing again. But for some reason, she looked at it again.

Upon seeing the hollowed visage of 13 scowling at her, she wanted to fling the magazine away and run for her life, but she didn't. Instead, she scanned the both front and back cover almost clinically, and she realized something that she didn't before. Unlike the other magazines, there was no bar-code on this one. This magazine wasn't for sale. Then what was it doing here?

Rapunzel glanced back at the rack. There were quite a few copies of the same magazine on the rack, and upon examining those too, she realized that there was, again, no bar-codes. Then she realized that there were others of similar print that too had no barcodes, but bore different covers of other topics. She began searching through the rack for these magazines, pulling one copy of each from the rack and laying them out on the ground. Some of them had photos on the cover, while others just bore words of many different fonts. She realized the issues had numbers to them, so she began to arrange them in order. Once she had the dozen magazines laid out in chronologically before her, she spoke to her chameleon, "What could this all mean?"

Pascal made scuttling noise, leaping nimbly down her arm, crawling suspiciously towards the glossy covers. Narrowing his large pupils at the pages, he suddenly leapt up, chirping like on one who had an epiphany.

"What? What?" Rapunzel leaned closer, eager.

Just as Pascal was about to show her what he had found, she heard a voice, "Miss?"

She jumped. The burly shop owner towered over her, gazing down at the four-by-three arranged magazines, his expression almost nervous. Being on her knees, she scrambled back to her feet, scoping Pascal in her hand as she did. Against the man's full height though, she was still horrifying small.

She squirmed inwardly. This was not normal behavior - she knew. She needed a good excuse. A very good excuse. "Um-"

"Do you own a motorcycle?"

She blinked at his interruption, but welcoming the divergence in topic, she answered, "Yes. Yeah, I do."

"Oh, um,-" the shopkeeper seemed quite ill at ease, before continuing on, "-I think someone's stealing it."

Her eyes almost popped out their sockets.

In a dash of madness, Rapunzel yanked her phone of the charging point, stuffing Pascal back in her pocket and speeding down the provision shop aisles. She could hear that the owner was trying to tell her something, but in his thick accent she couldn't understand it. At the moment, she didn't care.

Swinging open the shop door, she was just in time watch as her bike began to roll away.

"Hey!"

The thief glanced up at her at her cry. He didn't put her helmet on, for it was far too small him, so she had a clear view of every feature he had. Soft brown hair, sharp eyes, thin nose and a far-too-satisfied smirk.

"Thanks for the ride!" He crowed callously as one of his feet pressed on the accelerator. He threw his head back with triumph guffaws while he twisted the handle. Within seconds, he was zooming up the street.

"Stop!" Rapunzel dashed forward, but feet stood no chance against wheels. "Thief! Thief!"

It was hopeless. She managed to cross only three blocks before he disappeared completely out of sight. Panting and heaving, she forced herself to slow down, clutching her stomach as she did. With her light powers, she could have stopped, but she was in a civilian identity. Mother said never to expose your civilian identity, no matter cost.

Yeah. It didn't matter that she had skipped meals to save up for that bike. And now it was gone.

The streets were empty, which was odd since they hadn't been when she had first entered Oaken's provision. No one had heard her cry, and no one cared that a robbery had just been committed. By the time she walked back to Oaken's Provision, hoping he might aid her, the shutters had been drawn and the store sign read closed.

No one dared to care.

She sunk down to the steps of the store, feeling increasingly small and miserable. Her ride was gone, but she still had a phone. Her wallet was in satchel, thank goodness, as well as an umbrella and a now useless pair of motorcycle keys. Maybe Mother was right. Maybe she wasn't ready for this. Look! It was her first day on her own, and she got robbed! She! A _super_! And she couldn't chase him down without giving her identity away.

"What should I do, Pascal?" Rapunzel asked the chameleon in her palms. She could feel her eyes watering up, but she blinked them back. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. Heroes don't.

The reptile made soft crooning voices, nudging his hand gently at her palm.

She made a loud exhale. "I suppose I could call Mother."

Pascal stiffened, shaking his head vigorously. For some reason, Pascal didn't like Mother, so he often encouraged her to go against her mother for anything really. Rapunzel had come to terms that it was just some prejudice that the chameleon had.

"Alright, then what?"

The chameleon bore a harsh expression at the road the Thief had escaped down, before taking one front paw, clenching it and fitting it in his paw. If that was indeed possible.

"Take him down? Pascal, I don't know anything about this guy, or Burgeshima," she lamented. "I can't do anything."

Pascal made a sound of disagreement, just off her hand and scrambling on to the steps. Following his movements, Rapunzel realized that there was the horrid magazine that featured Burgeshima's bloodthirsty vigilante was lying there. She must have unwittingly grabbed on her hurry to leave the store, dropping it when she tried to chase down that thief.

The thief. What did she remember about him?

Brown hair. Brown eyes. Smug grin. Green vest. Lean, but muscular. Around mid-twenties. White shirt.

She creased her brow.

There were tattoos on his arm - black swirls that seemed form a shape.

She heard a squeak from Pascal. Her eyes turned to his direction. The reptile had directed his tail to a small picture on the left hand corner of the cover, something that she hadn't quite noticed before.

Then she realized that the black swirls she had seen on the man's arm was one and the same with the one of the cover, if only more decorated.

It was image of a black horse.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Tell me if you can't understand what Merida's saying as the Wisp. I tried to make it understandable.**

 **Ages of characters if needed:**

 **Hiccup: 16**

 **Merida:17**

 **Rapunzel: 18**

 **Elsa: 21**

 **Anna: 18**

 **Kristoff: 19**

 **Jack: Guess.**

 **Up Next: Will probably see Team Kristanna and introduce more characters, while revealing more about the stuff you're wondering about.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **In full honesty, I didn't want to write this. Most of it just...wrote itself.**

 **I apologize for the grammar. I only read through it once.**

 **I probably need a beta reader for this story. If anyone's interested, PM me. I should warn that I'm quite an irritating person to work with.**

 **I'm trapped in exams. Help.**

 **Mailbox for Guests:**

 **Guest: Hope the S/N clarifies any doubts. As for Anna and Elsa's relationship, if any, would be revealed in the future.**

 **I really don't know when the next update is. Could be Decemeber. Could be another depressant point. I really don't know how I just keep writing...**

 **I would love it if you reviewed. Bye**


	4. Chpt 4: Retrospect

Everyone needs a hero. The first she'd ever had was her elder sister.

The bits and pieces that she remembered of Elizabeth was something she struggled to keep. The last time that Anna had ever seen her was, after all, when she was seven. The face was getting hazy and the words they had exchanged were all but intelligible mutters at the back of Anna's head. But she remembered the fun. In the darkest times, even in the loneliest hours, she held onto the fun just like drowning men to straw. It was all she had anymore.

She didn't remember why she loved her sister, or why she revered her so, but somehow in her mind, Elizabeth had always been held in the highest esteem. She knew that at some point there were fights between them, quarrels and divisions that she couldn't quite comprehend, but those ugly memories she cast aside. In her eyes, her late sister was as perfect as sisters get - kind, smart, fun, caring, loving. The only problem with her sister was the absence.

When her parents were still alive, mention of the 'E-word' was close too taboo. It wasn't that her parents didn't love Elizabeth, but there was far too much hurt and bitterness associated with her death.

It was possibly the darkest day in Anna's memory, but when she thought of it, she couldn't help sensing hope within it.

Anna had been just a little older than seven and her sister ten. They had been on vacation at Berkazaki when their hotel was stormed by armed terrorists. It had been especially frightening, because she had been separated from her parents.

It had been around dinner time, so the terrorists had chosen to lock down the restaurant first. Her sister had been stayed in her hotel room. That how her sister always was - isolated from the public, the strangers, and most of the time, even Anna. The reasons behind this arrangement puzzled Anna, but her mother claimed that there was a rare illness that her sister had, and to keep others safe, it had to be done.

This however was not quite an option during the attack.

Anna had, by serendipity, decided to take a slice of chocolate cake up to her sister at that point of time, hoping to tempt her to come outside, which was why she had not been with her parents and the other patrons, huddled on the restaurant floor with their hands on their heads. On hindsight, she had recalled hearing odd noises, but somehow had managed to remain blissfully unaware of the entire situation until she had arrived at lift lobby of the twenty-third. Even as she had skipped cheerily down the carpeted corridor, it only struck her that something was seriously wrong after she had arrived in front of their hotel room. The plate holding the cake had almost slipped from her little fingers.

The room door had been ripped from its hinges. Everything, from the doorframe to the floor to the ceiling, had been coated in gleaming ice.

What that had come next was largely a blur. She had remembered seeing tall, masked men wielding firearms dashing down the corridor, yelling at her, while she had crazily decided to throw the cake slice at them before speeding off. She had returned to lift lobby, frantically jabbing the lift buttons, panting uneasily. The second the door had drawn open, she had shot inside, pressing a random floor number and hurriedly slamming the close button. She had remembered sucking an anxious breath when someone had managed to slip into the lift, just before the doors had clicked shut.

The person hadn't noticed her at first - she had been rather short in stature, and she had done her best to make herself as unnoticeable as possible in the corner of the lift.

Slowly, the lift had rolled down, and with each floor they'd passed, there had been gunfire and screams.

Without meaning to, Anna had let out a whimper in fright. Then he had turned his head in her direction.

He had been masked, like the scary men outside the lift had been, and in his hand he had held a weapon of sorts. If she had been a calmer, more rational toddler, maybe she would have noted that his mask unlike the others was not made of black carbon-fibre, but was nothing more than a ragged blue scarf covering the lower half of his face. The weapon in his hand was in fact a staff, not a gun.

But because she had been a frightened, highly irrational toddler, as most toddler's in her place, she had screamed at the top of lungs.

"Hey! Hey, it's okay!" When he took a step towards her, she pressed against the wall, half-hoping she could sink into it.

Summoning all the courage she could, she yelled, "Go away!"

"I'm not the bad guy. It's okay." He crouched down so that his eyes could meet her own. She returned the gaze reluctantly, still wrapping her arms around herself. His eyes had been nice blue, yet with how his hoodie had been drawn over his head and the grey mask over his nose and mouth, not to mention the flickering lights in the elevator, she hadn't been able to bring herself to trust.

So Anna shook her head again, stammering, "Keep back."

"I'm a good guy." The masked man insisted, pointing at himself with his staff. It was quite a pretty weapon, with ice pattern laced on its side and a hook at its end that looked like a 'G'. But the mask still scared her.

"You don't look like it," she shot back, fire in her tone though she had been trembling. She wished didn't throw her plate at other gunman - it would have been some protection, at least.

"It's just a mask. Look,-" Seeing her distrust in her eyes. "-don't believe me? Fine. Watch." He had pulled his hoodie back down, revealing a shock of white hair. The same had been done to the mask, and then she had realized that -

"Y-you're just a boy." Even though he had been a good deal taller than her, it couldn't be denied that he was young, too young to have real white hair anyway. He was definitely much older than Elizabeth, but many, many years younger than her father.

"Thanks for reducing my ego with four words," he muttered with a good-natured huff. In his self-depreciating grin, she could see that his teeth was as white as freshly-fallen snow. His hair was much the same, spikes of frost spilled carelessly over his head. "What's your name, kid?"

"A-anna." Her parents had taught her about the dangers of strangers, but the answer slipped out so easily. Without the mask and the hoodie, she felt no insecurity, no trepidation. For some reason, he made her feel safe.

Maybe it helped that he was absolutely gorgeous, but that was another point.

"Well, Miss Anna, I'm nothing but a humble hero at your service, Jack Frost." He straightened his knees, providing a florid bow. Maybe it was the comical action, or it was how nice and warm ''Miss Anna' made her feel, but all the in-built adrenaline bubbled up her throat as a giggle rather than a cry.

"You're a hero?" she asked with wonder. Her mother had told her there weren't heroes in Ameripan anymore, but the legends still lived on. There had been time when her sister and her had read mangas illustrations of those great heroics together.

"Well, yeah."

"Like Metroman?"

He laughed sheepishly, but it still sounded like the jiggling of bells. "No super strength. I'm more of-" he paused to think of a phrase, "- an ice guy." His eyes flitted briefly to the rapidly decreasing numbers above the elevator door.

Fearfully, she asked, "Are bad guys out there, Jack?"

"'Friad so, Miss Anna." He seemed worried, and that made her worried too.

"Are they gonna hurt us?" Her lip started to tremble.

His own lips pressed together in a hard line. "Not if I can help it." He bent himself down again, holding a hand out to her. "I've got a huge favor to ask of you. It won't be easy, I know-" for her eyes suddenly became wide and wary again "-but this is the only way I can save everyone. Can you keep a secret, Missy Anna?"

Scared as she was, she gulped and nodded.

Dropping his voice almost conspiratorially, he whispered, "My powers work on _belief_." Seeing her confusion, he elaborated, "The more someone believes in me, the stronger my power is. Now with all those nasty, smelly baddies out there,-" he made an exaggerated shudder that earned a smile from her -"I'm gon'na need all the power I can get. That's why _you_ , Miss Anna,-" the way he called her 'Miss Anna' wasn't teasing; it was like he really did respect her "-are so very important. The life of everyone in building is in your hands." He took a deep breath. "Anna, I need you believe in me. Completely and totally. I know we're just strangers, but can you do that?"

Terrified beyond belief, she certainly was, but she was also a child of great faith. "I believe in you, Jack."

"Thank you, Miss Anna." The boy gave her a warm smile, before pulling up his mask and hoodie again.

She didn't remember the exact events that transpired once the elevator door opened, but she knew that through the gunfire and hollering, her arms were wrapped around the boy's neck and her face buried in his chest. His left arm supported her weight while his right swung his staff. Once or twice, she dared to open her eyes and both times were when gunmen had their automatics pointed in their direction. She might have screamed, and she might have clenched harder on his hoodie, but without doubt, a jab or swipe of his staff was enough to avert the danger. It was amazing and scary at the same time.

But all heroes often ran into trouble, and that moment arrived for Jack when they reached a three-way junction in the corridor. There were gunmen at every opening, their arms directed at that the duo. Jack's back was pressed against a window's ledge, one arm still around her tiny form. There no way to run.

"-six, seven, eight. Eight guns pointing at us," muttered Jack, making an expression of mock worry at her which somehow lightening the entire situation. "Well, well, whatever shall we do?"

"Surrender your weapons, freak. There's no way to run," the leader of the black masked band told them. Red lasers dots were mostly trained on his body, and a few on hers.

"Ah, shucks." Jack made a defeated sigh, drooping his shoulders and lowering his staff, but she couldn't miss the twinkle in his eye. "Looks like we can't run, Ms. Anna. That means there's only one thing we can do."

Abruptly, he stabbed his staff to the ground. The carpet froze up, frost climbing up the legs of the gunmen, sticking them to the ground. Laughing at the confusion on the terrorists' face, Jack pulled the little girl close to himself, and whispered, "Hang on tight."

Just before the crackling of gunfire erupted again, Jack swung his body into the glass of the window.

This was one experience she never forgot. As a child of six years, plummeting downwards while shattering glass splintered on the impact of bullets above her, it should have scarred her for life. She screamed, her little lungs almost bursting.

But then she heard him laugh. It was a crazy laugh, but not a maniacal crazy. More like... _happy_ crazy. It was so full of abandon and endless exuberance, absent of fear, teemed to the top with mischief and joy. Her eyes that had been squeezed shut reopened themselves.

She could see the ground, so many miles away. She could see the hotel, and the streets, and the police with their beeping cars and glaring lights. But she didn't see them the way she had always did. The people below looked like dots, and the cars looked like clumsily strewn lego bricks. She could feel the winds kissing her cheeks, and her little braids flapping in the wind.

"Whoohooo!" crowed the boy.

She was _flying_.

Her grip on Jack's arm got tighter, but that was because of excitement, not fear. Her mouth fell open, and she swallowed the warm summer air.

She was _flying_!

"We're going to have land, Miss Anna," Jack told her. "Are you ready?"

What? So soon? She wanted to shake her head. The gushing exhilaration, the sensation of complete freedom – she didn't want to let that go! But Jack didn't see her response, beginning a gentle descent down to the streets.

The minute Jack's feet touched the ground, however, half a dozen barrels were aimed at his face. And the people holding the weapons weren't terrorists.

"Put the hostage down or we'll open fire!" One of the armed policemen hollered.

Anna wasn't old enough to understand what 'hostage' was, but she knew by the angry tone that it wasn't a good thing.

"You're going to fire on me when I have a kid clinging to my neck. Seriously?" Jack sounded angry too. He straightened up his staff just to steady himself, but that lead to more officers cocking their pistols.

"This is the last warning. Put the child down!"

"No!" Anna untangled herself from the boy, jumping off to her own feet. She placed her tiny body between the shouting officer and Jack. "He saved me! He's a good guy." She swallowed, suddenly nervous about shouting at a group of tall men with guns. She glanced behind her, looking at Jack. He nodded, giving a small smile of encouragement.

Turning back to the officer, she said, with boldness beyond her own years, "He's a hero."

The police officer, who probably the leader of the lot, considered her for a moment, then signaled the others to lower their arms. Anna heard Jack let out a sigh of relief – he was more worried than he let on, apparently.

"However, under the Anti-Hero Act, you're still under arrest for vigila-"

"Oh, shut up, you clot," Jack interrupted the policeman, much to everyone's surprise. He pointed the crook of his staff at the hotel. "There are people trapped inside there, so if you don't mind, I'm actually going to save them, rather than hide behind barriers and bullets." He thumbed at the police cars with blinking lights, and the other officers that had their guns pointed at the entrance of the hotel. One held a loudhailer, and he yelled words that Anna knew that the attackers would not listen to.

The officer obviously didn't agree, but there seemed to be reluctance amongst the squad to rid the lesser of two evils. So one by one, the policemen moved off, focusing on the real hostage situation instead.

The white-haired boy spun to face her, kneeling down so he could face her. "I've got go, Miss Anna. Wait here with the police – you're safer here."

"Mum and Dad are inside, at the dining hall," Anna hurriedly told him. Indeed, the magic of flight had been forgotten when she remembered that her parents were still in the hotel. And – "My sister too! But she's somewhere else."

"Don't worry, I'll get them out," the boy told her, scooping back lock of hair from her face. "I promise." He patted her gently on the shoulder. "Believe, Miss Anna."

He stood back up straight, giving her playful salute, before zooming back into the hotel with staff in hand.

They let her sit in a police car, and in there she wrung her hand together, focusing on her believing very hard in Jack. She hoped that he could still feel her belief from a far, and that it would help him in the fight.

About a horrid hour later, hostages came streaming out of the hotel doors, crying in their relief. Medics immediately ran forward to help the injured, and some officers, with their bullet proof shields, ran into the building. In the crowd, Anna found her parents. The reunion was filled with much joy and gratefulness, but then –

"Where's Elizabeth?"

They couldn't find her anywhere. They asked around for a little girl of platinum gold hair, wearing a blue dress and white gloves, but they never found her.

"She must still be in there," her mother cried, but the revelation was too late.

Suddenly, a white-colored frost appeared to be creeping out from one hotel window, then another, and then another. Vines of white grew out from here, curling and swirling until the entire building was coated in the purest snow that Anna had ever seen. The snow abruptly changed its form, turning into a crystalline shade, and it looked as if the entire building had been turned to glass.

And then the crystal surface cracked.

Crooked lines marred the gleaming smoothness, and the sound of ice ripping was enough to make both ex-hostages and policemen back away.

In a second later, the ice shattered.

Bricks mixed with concrete and snow tumbled down. Dust and snow flew up in the air as the pillars broke. People screamed in horror and Anna could only watch, frozen with fright. All twenty-five floors of the hotel collapsed, transforming from a five-star residence into a heap of purposeless rubble.

She didn't see what happened next, because she fainted the very next moment. When she woke up, Anna found herself in a hospital. Though she didn't have any severe injuries, she was sick from a strange disease called pneumonia – caused by cold, her father had told her. Only about a week later when she was discharged, her parents finally told her what happened after the hotel fell.

All terrorists were killed in the collapse, but so were the ten police officers that had marched into the building earlier. There were also groups of hostages that hadn't managed to escape and amongst their bodies, a small child with a blonde braid had been unearthed.

Even at the funeral, Anna couldn't believe it. The tombstone read 'Elizabeth Catherine Arendelle,' yet Anna still couldn't believe it. But it was true, nonetheless.

Her parents were devastated, and so Anna was too. Her first hero was gone. It was as if all the light in their home had been snuffed, which was strange because Elizabeth was always hiding in her room, so it shouldn't have felt different. But it was.

What's worse was what happened next. As child, Anna never really cared for the news. It was boring adult stuff that she had no desire to touch. But on that day, she found herself sitting just three inches from the television, muttering, "No, no, no-"

"… _The vigilante, who has been proven to have ice powers , caused the deaths of at least fifty during the collapse of the Black Raven Hotel, including children. The police are still on the lookout for this law-breaker in hopes of bringing him to justice. Anyone with knowledge about this vigilante is encouraged to call the number below…"_

What's wrong with these people? Didn't they know that there were only survivors on that day because of Jack? If it wasn't for him, Anna knew that she would have lost both parents on top of her sister. He was a hero, so she was sure that the collapse of the building was not intentional. It was very difficult to explain how she felt about it. Classmates who knew about her witnessing the crumble of the Black Raven Hotel thought her defensiveness for the white-haired hero crazy. Her parents refused to even talk about him, and they didn't let Anna talk about him either. The only person who bothered listening was the housekeeper Greda, but even she held skepticism about Jack Frost.

"You had never seen it before, Miss Anna," Greda told her, sincere but still a little patronizing. "But many years ago, when there were ever so many Supers flying around, the world was a scary place – so much destruction and fighting. People always got hurt. This Jack fellow, I'm afraid he's no different. You best forget him, Miss Anna. He's bad news."

But she couldn't forget him. The magic of the flight, the splendor of the ice, the merriment in his laugh. Jack was a hero – it's just that people stopped believing it.

Her parents assumed that her fixation on Jack Frost was just a childish fantasy, so they tolerated. As she got older, however, the fixation didn't fade, but boomed. She was always researching on him – his last appearance, his abilities, his brief stint with the Guardians of Burgeshima. She then began branching out into other heroes of the Golden Age – Metaman, Jetstream, the Monster Team, Elastigirl and more. She bought posters and figurines of them, even making some of her own. She poured through blogs about them, 'liking' all those that were pro-hero and insulting those that weren't. She gained membership to several different fan clubs, and even started a few of her own. Her parents disapproved with her choices of 'entertainment', but what they didn't realize was that she needed this. With Elizabeth gone, she needed new heroes to grant her hope that this bitter world could still be good. After her parent passed away in that dreadful accident, she found herself burying herself deeper into the world of heroes. She was horribly lonely, and she found solace in such material.

Her choice to become to pursue journalism was rooted in an exceedingly simple reason. Even after the return of heroes in Metroville, most cities in Ameripan still opposed the legalization of vigilantes. Critical commentary decorated every newspaper and website. Cynicism about costumed 'freaks' was prevalent, because people enjoyed spreading the hate too much. It was like a calling, in a way, because Anna felt that she could no longer sit and watch Ameripan's small-minded nitwits tear apart the ideals that heroes stood for. An alternative narrative was needed, and she intended to be the vessel for that.

Her progress was slow, since she was merely an intern for now, but her resolve was firm. She would climb the ranks for the new company and give the heroes a much deserved voice.

Everyone needs a hero – even heroes.

* * *

"Forty dollars? No way."

"Well, you could walk."

"I checked with my phone. The hostel's only a mile away. Forty's a rip-off."

"Whatever. If you're not interested, don't waste my time."

Kristoff huffed, desiring nothing more than to punch the irritating taxi driver in the face. However, since that wouldn't solve their problem of lack of accommodation, he suppressed the urge, choosing wisely to walk away from the crabby cab driver. There was something about today that just made him horribly grumpy. He wished that they had just gone to San Fransokyo like everyone else – at least they'd be back at Arendashi by now.

But no. Let's just go to one of the most dangerous cities on the Western Border and find some homicidal vigilante. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

The blonde boy only became more irritated when he noted the huge grin on his project partner's face. It was as if she was perpetually living in some magical, invisible world that he could never see.

"I can't believe it," she told him, her eyes sparkling, breathless with excitement. "We're in the Guardians' city. Once upon a time, they actually lived here!"

"Well, _once upon a time_ ," Kristoff muttered, rolling his eyes.

To his slight satisfaction, a frown appeared on her face and she folded her arms. "Is it always the glass half empty with you?"

"Well, someone has to check reality every now and then," he answered, surly.

She clucked her tongue at him. "C'mon, we can walk."

"It's a mile."

"It's good exercise."

"You're not the one carrying the excessively heavy camera."

"Then why tug it along at all? You can use your phone."

"I spent two years learning how to use a camera like this." Kristoff heaved the large black bag over his shoulder, scowling as he did. "No way I'm giving it up for some cheapskate filming, thank you."

"Well, aren't you just progressive," Anna commented dryly, skipping down the road. Of course she could skip - she was only carrying a small sling bag! He rather hoped that she wasn't planning to stay overnight for this, because neither of them had packed any clothes.

But then, what if they never found 13 and got the blasted interview? What if Anna insisted on staying in the city until they do? Would they stay on the streets like hobos? What if they got robbed and couldn't buy bus tickets home? What if they got stabbed to death in some creepy alley and their bodies only found in the morning?

How on Earth did he get into situations like this?

"Hey, mister!"

Kristoff paused. Was that addressed to him? He glanced forward. Anna was still strolling down without a care in the world, so it wasn't she who had called him.

"Yeah, you with the unmanly blond hair!"

He halted his steps, spinning on his heel, trying to find the speaker. "Excuse me!" His face was flushed with irritation. "My hair is perfectly manly!"

"It's not," the voice flatly contradicted. "That's not the point. I heard you need a ride."

He finally located the voice. A short skinny girl donning a turquoise hoodie stood in front of him, grinning crookedly.

Kristoff narrowed his eyes at her. "And I suppose you can help us get one?"

"No, I can give you one," the girl replied smugly, folding her arms and lifting her chin. For someone her height, she did seem horribly confident.

But confidence level didn't equate to age, and this girl – this kid – couldn't be older than twelve. "Nice try, kid."

"No, seriously, I can drive," the girl insisted. She didn't seem like she was lying, but facts remained facts.

"You're a kid. You don't – can't have a license."

"Well, technically." The girl shrugged, her black ponytail bobbing up and down as she did. "But that doesn't mean I can't drive."

"The police would stop you."

"The police?" The kid burst out laughing.

Kristoff was disturbed. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," the girl said, wiping the tears from her eyes, still cackling. "Hah, police!"

"How much?" Kristoff almost jumped when he noticed Anna standing next to him.

He quickly muttered to her, "You can't be serious."

"Aren't you the one's who's carrying the big, heavy camera?" Anna pointed out. "You tried all the taxi-drivers – they're all too expensive. And you don't want to walk."

"Yes, but she's a _kid_!"

"I'll take half of what the taxi driver asked from you," the girl answered after a moment of pondering.

"This is crazy," Kristoff hissed to his brunette companion, but she paid him no mind.

"Fine, but payment after we reach," Anna said.

"No, payment first," the girl protested.

"How 'bout half here and half there?"

The small rubbed her chin in thought, then said, "Deal."

The car in question was possibly the oldest car Kristoff had ever seen – and that was saying a lot. He grew up in a peaceful backwater town which the city people called 'antiquated'. The clunky brown sedan was doing nothing to appease his discomfort about their underage.

The interior of the car was also not in good condition. The leather on the seats was scraped off, and the air-conditioning was dead. The windows were marked with grease and dirt, making Kristoff wonder when was the last time the car even got washed. The floor was littered with candy-wrappers and lollipop sticks, chewed gum stuck at the side of door. Of course, if he was repulsed, Anna was horrified. Though he held pride in maintaining a certain level of cleanliness, hygiene never made it big on Kristoff's list of 'importants'. On the other hand, having grown up with servants and housemaid, Anna was used to a certain level of comfort, so watching her distress was at least entertaining.

"Hey, this was your idea," he told her, unable to help smirking.

The brunette stuck a tongue out at him.

"Welcome to the Lickity Split!" their miniature driver announced as she slipped behind the wheel. "I'm Vanellope von Schweetz, your driver for today. And I'll take my ten bucks now, thank you."

Kristoff gave his companion a meaningful look, before the latter sighed and produced the amount in question.

"Thank y-oup," the kid called Vanellope said gleefully, pocketing the note. "Now hang on tight, 'coz-" Kristoff could see the wicked expression on the girl's face through the rear view mirror "-there aren't any seat belts."

* * *

If you knew your stuff about Burgeshima, you would know that the city was roughly divided into three zones.

The first zone was called the 'White House'. The smallest zone out of all of them, it was the hangout of those who could afford to live honestly. Government officials that needed to enter the city always drove straight to the little estate, drawing up blinds over their car windows to avoid looking at the destitute side of the city. That said, the White House zone couldn't exist separately from the rest of Burgeshima, and even those who could be honest didn't want to. After all, it's the crooks that get rich.

The second zone was called the 'Warzone'. Now, don't be mistaken into thinking that was some wide expanse perfect for gunfire and explosions. It looked like any other urban city street with shop houses, large office buildings, grocery marts, cinemas and so forth. The difference was that any second, one of these places might just turn into a warzone. Many of the smaller gangs in Burgeshima fought over the limited landspace around here. Biggest turfs meant more income. More income meant better weapons. Better weapons meant more power. Unfortunately, that meant that too many innocent people falling in the crossfire, and sadly, the hospitals in Burgeshima were short in manpower, like the police.

Sometimes, people in the Warzone would move out, but since most couldn't afford to leave Burgeshima, they moved to the 'Black zone' – or as most called, 'the Blackhole'.

Why the Blackhole? Because it sucks.

Not just 'sucks' as in 'very unpleasant', but 'sucks' as in 'creating a vacuum and drawing you in'. Once you entered the Blackhole, it's very difficult to leave.

Taking up slightly more than half of Burgeshima, the biggest factories, companies and schools were all established here. If you asked the people here, they would tell you that life was okay. Most people didn't starve to death. Cleanliness wasn't perfect, but hygiene was possible. But of course, you shouldn't be stupid enough to believe them. Everyone knew that the Nightmare Yakuza had ears everywhere. Moreover, trying to move out of the Blackhole was in a way indicating that you were dissatisfied with it, and unless you had special permission, it was usually a death sentence.

Most people didn't starve to death in the Blackhole. They were usually stabbed, shot or lynched.

In the centre of the Blackhole was a towering _shiro_ – a traditional castle. Its architecture was based on similar fortresses built in the Edo period, but instead of being built of wood and stone, the mansion was built from metal and granite. It was a fairly new building actually, only twenty years old. The wondrous part was that it was completed in only a year, thanks to the fantastic technology contributed by the brighter members of the Yakuza.

Naturally, a castle had a king, and the king – or rather, the _kumicho_ \- had his throne. It was carved out of a single piece of basalt, a unique antique from the 15th century. It had been acquired by one of his _kobun_ during an auction on the East side and had been presented to him as a gift. It was black, so of course Pitch had accepted it. Still, the throne was largely ornamental. Most of members of the Yakuza practiced continued the traditions of _seiza_ – kneeling on the floor with your back straight upright – and the _kumicho_ did no different. It was his idea to continue traditions, after all.

It was also his idea to put his daughter in martial arts.

Elsa was not a violent child. If she could help it, she would not be involved in any Yakuza activities if possible. She hated confrontations, especially ones that required close proximity to other people. She had such a gentle soul, and that's why he was shrewd enough to break that in her when she was young.

He put her in dangerous situations, one after another, forcing her to use her 'special abilities'. She was rarely hurt on the process, but other people always were. Each time she huddled herself into a pool of self-guilt, he would grab her by the shoulders, stare into her eyes and hiss, "If you don't want to hurt them, then _control it_."

It was a harsh way to train a child, but it was fairly effective. He never let her run away from her victims, but forced her to watch when people turned to ice sculptures or when snowstorms made building crumble. Pitch made sure that she kept accounts of her own mistakes - the exact number of casualties, what exactly she did wrong and how she intended to change it. He would never let her hide behind her tears, but he would drag her out, sometimes kicking, until she face her fears again, and again. When she realized that he wasn't going to stop forcing her to use her powers - forcing her to hurt people - she had no choice but to learn control. She made no objections to the _karate_ lessons he forced her into, only to request a change to _aikido_ later – a gentler style that allowed self-defense while avoiding injury to the attacker. All in all, he was mostly proud of her.

He knew that she didn't share the same sentiments about him.

Even as a little girl, Elsa carried a sort of 'holier-than-thou' air about her – which was fine, really, but it got fairly annoying when she grew older. To him, she would always deliver the appropriate amount of respect, but that respect rarely held approval. It was mostly just out of obligation and habit. He knew what she really thought about the Yakuza – that it was brutal, unjust, and violent. She blamed it as the source of all Burgeshima's troubles. Of course, that's because she wasn't even born in the age of Supers. She simply didn't know better.

Sometimes, in the after noons, he would find her circling the gallery near the South Wing. She had grown very fond of spending time there. Maybe it was the solitude, but he suspected that the contents of the gallery interested her.

His days as a 'super-villain' have long past, and though he often looked back on those days with disgust, he still wanted to remember them. Most of Burgeshima had forgotten about the Guardians, but he never did. He recalled every face, every single heroic, every single adventure, every catch line. After all, there was a time that he was on their side.

Of course, that was a very, very long time ago.

After the Anti-Hero Act had been implemented, after he had accumulated enough wealth and power, Pitch had begun to collect everything that he could find about them – posters, profiles, histories, statues, photographs – and he placed them all in the South Wing. If he had been anyone else, it would have been assumed that he was The Guardians' biggest fan, or something. In his eyes, however, the South Wing collection was equivalent to gathering the fallen ashes of one's enemy.

When he stepped into the lavishly decorated hall, her head shot up, and at once she rose to her feet, giving a ninety-degree bow. "Father."

"Daughter," he greeted. Gesturing to the gallery, he asked, "Admiring the gallery?"

"Yes." She appeared to examining the weapons cabinet, so he joined her there. Behind the glass sat a set of colorful eggs, lined neatly in a row. Next to it held several different boomerangs, decorated by Aborigine figures. She seemed puzzled. "I don't see how these weapons can be effective."

"Without their owner, I suppose not," he answered dryly. "The Easter Bunny used alien technology to power them, and it usually required him to be in considerable proximity for the signal to work. Same for his geokinesis." Seeing the disbelief on her face, he added, "I did know my enemies."

"What about the Tooth Fairy? I'm surprised you don't have miniature fairies hidden around," Elsa commented as they moved down to the next exhibit.

"The fairies are all astral projections of the Tooth Fairy. They don't exist unless she creates and maintains them."

They didn't stop until they arrived at the final exhibit, which was the smallest out of the lot. It was a simple thermostatic chamber that held a small frozen object – a snowball.

"I've seen this many times, but I never understood what it was," Elsa confessed as both of them stepped on opposite sides of the case. She glanced at him expectantly.

Pitch didn't answer. He only stared down at the snowball, as if by staring alone he could destroy it. He detested the Guardians, but this boy – this _monster_ \- he was the only one that Pitch hated with the entirety of his black heart.

He spun away, no explanation or excuses. Elsa tried to call out to him, but he paid no heed.

Besides monetary value, there are three possible reasons why mementos in general are kept – mementos like those of the South Wing Gallery, that is.

The first is sentiment, which is absolute rubbish in Pitch's case. The absence of the Guardians had allowed the success of his criminal empire.

The second is love, which again is ridiculous here.

The last was hate. Complete, all-consuming hatred. Even with all his power, even with all his wealth, even with the unquestioning loyalty of his _kobun_ , he could never be satisfied.

Not till that alien freak paid for what he had done.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 _ **Kumicho-**_ **The Yakuza equivalent for a mafia's Godfather. Basically, the Top Dog.**

 _ **Kobun**_ **– 'Children' of the Kumicho – basically, the underlings.**

 **There are going to be Wreck-it-Ralph characters in this, because I love that movie too much. Vanellope is here!**

 **I've been trying to think of 'superhero AU' explanations for the Guardians powers, and I'm sorry if they sound really powerful – coz face it! In the movies, the Guardians** _ **are**_ **freakin' powerful.**

 **And before you ask question, remember this important fact – I don't do OCs.**

 **Up Next: Encounters with police, Telephones chats and detective work (I think).**

* * *

 **A/N: Hi there. Sorry that I haven't been around.**

 **Sorry for the typos. I still need a beta reader.**

 **Bye!**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	5. Chpt 5: Time After Time

San Fransokyo. Ameripan's leading city in the STEM - Sciences, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics, that is. Perhaps it shouldn't then be surprising that the 'Supers' of such a city as this would have talents in these areas.

It was around quarter past two when three out of six of the famed teen team stepped into the morgue block of the San Fransokyo Police Department (SFPD). Hiro was busy running company affairs, Fred was visiting family and Wasabi had gone for an internship interview. That left just Honey Lemon, Gogo and Baymax, or - as the world knew them in their coloured costumes - Kamikaze, Tomago and RONIN.

This trio made it about halfway down the corridor before they were greeted by one of the facility staff. Light conversation was exchanged between the cheerful Kamikaze and this staff, before they were directed to the last room. There, they were partially perturbed by the sight of the armed guards flanking both sides of the door. The blonde hesitated, but Tomago, who was never one to flinch in the face of danger, strode straight up to the doors. RONIN followed her as he had been programmed to do and Kamikaze scuttled hurriedly behind.

The frosted panels drew open automatically upon detecting their presence, where upon they were greeted with the thick scent of antiseptic, just barely masking the stench of decomposition. The hum of machines echoed throughout, setting an eerie backdrop for the trio as they entered the office.

"Big Hero 6. Nice to see that you guys got here after all."

Tomago gave a curt nod. Hands weren't shaken, because the forensic pathologist was donned up in his working gear and his gloves were far too dirty.

He led them to down the corridor of beds, warning them that the sight they were about to see was not a pretty one. Kamikaze may have made a squeamish sound at that, but Tomago covered it by delivering a crisp denial that they were tougher than they looked. RONIN maintained his impassive expression.

They stopped at the bed right at the end of the room, where a sterilized white sheet was draped over an unmoving form. The pathologist gave his warning once more, to which none of the heroes paid any mind to. With a grim expression, he removed the sheet.

Kamikaze involuntarily let out a gagging sound, then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Tomago's face did grow paler, but behind the yellow visor it was barely noticed. The only one who didn't react at all was RONIN.

"Just scan him," was all Tomago told her red-armored teammate, sounding a little sick.

RONIN obeyed this instruction, though he had technically been programmed to scan the bodies of the living, not the dead.

* * *

Out of all the things that have ever perplexed Jack about Earth, it was these objects that were wrapped around human feet.

It wasn't that he didn't understand the purposes behind the objects known as 'shoes'. They were useful things to keep one's feet dry from puddles and protect one's feet from nasty things like pebbles and nails. And, of course, cleanliness (nothing ruins a day like stepping on someone's pet's defecation, but doing it with bare feet is infinitely worst.) Nope. The thing that Jack didn't understand was the discomfort. How could people bare having their toes and soles buried in layers of cloth and rubber? What joy could there be in having feet if not to feel with them, to press one's skin against surfaces rough and smooth, to feel each step and be thankful that one has feet at all?

He never wore shoes if he could help it. Yes, there would always be dirt and thorns and unwanted defecation, but such horrors could be avoided by watching one's step and cleaning one's feet regularly. He respected the form his body possessed enormously, and if it meant going around everywhere barefoot, he would do it. Heck, he would go around everywhere without clothes if he could! But human propriety had to be respected, and in his line of work, it was rather cold. Well, supposedly. To other people. To him? Not really.

There was something important he was missing. Something quite essential to his introduction…

Speaking of shoes, he did own a few pairs before, despite his aversion to them. It had been his very first Christmas gift from North, and Jack had accepted with feigned reluctance, before throwing it into the fireplace once the coast was clear. The second he had were actually hand-made shoes from Tooth. She had been an overworked, underpaid, immigrant student moonlighting as a hero in a big Supers league, so Jack hadn't the heart to get rid of them. Instead, he took to stringing them around his neck like a medal, occasionally taking them up to admire them the way ladies would admire their pearls.

Till some super villain tried to strangle him with the laces, that was. After that, he lost those shoes. Tooth was upset, but he took her to the movies and bought the popcorn, so everything was okay after that.

Eventually, Jack was convinced to walk around with these strange rubber soles (on his feet, not around his neck, that was) after he'd been taught the merits of a secret identity. If he wanted to mix about with the local populace, he needed to adopt their attire. So with great reluctance, he took to donning a pair of sneakers and the alter-ego that every Super seemed to have.

Oh, did he mention that he was a Super? Well, perhaps not exactly a Super in the traditional sense. In the past, Supers specifically referred to human beings born with superhuman powers. Later on, the meaning became diluted, gradually referring to anyone of extraordinary abilities, whether it be gained through the supernatural, mutation or advanced technology. As long as it was a person involved in crime prevention that wasn't on the police force, 'Super' was usually tagged on. But people like Jack belonged to the oldest class of Supers. As a matter of fact, a class that had existed long before 'Superhuman' even became a concept. He was –

\- lost. Which was weird. You'd think you know a place after staying there for ten years. That said, he had been gone for, what, fifteen years? So it sort of made sense that things had changed. But unlike San Fransoyko, which had turned from some smelling, stinking sea port into a booming techno hub, the warm streets of Burgeshima now had a terrifying chill about it, and for someone who liked the cold, that was a bad sign.

So our white-headed hero continued walking down the pebbly, crooked concrete roads – without shoes, of course. He kept his rod over his shoulder, his head hung low and hair tucked under his hoodie. People did stare at him, but only for a few seconds. He knew what was going on in their heads – _druggie, hobo, dropout, punk_. He saw mothers grabbing their children's hands pulling them away from him, and older men deliberately diverting their gaze. Yet he didn't really have the heart to despise them for that. Somethings had changed, but perhaps not as much as he had hoped.

When he took the left on the fork, he was glad to see a statue of Thaddeus Burgess and his family still standing at the entrance of the public park. The old spruces and pines growing in the backdrop were as green as ever, though their branches seemed oddly crooked and their leaves faded. Funny, since it was spring. As he got closer, Jack noticed that other than pigeon droppings, old Thaddeus and Co. had seemed gained an uncharacteristically large amount of burn marks. And holes. Bullet holes.

He decided to keep going.

It was about a good fifteen minutes or so before he could recognize another shop – some old winery that had stubbornly refused to close down. He then took a right along that, only pausing as he watched a group of university students on the other side of the road. They were young people, dressed in what was supposedly now fashionable. They chatted eagerly with one another, with an occasional head dipping to check their phone, somehow oblivious to the gloomy air that hung over the city.

Or perhaps they weren't. One of the group saw him looking at them and stopped laughing immediately. He tapped the shoulder of another peer, jerking his chin towards Jack, folding his arms. Despite being somewhat out of touch with this generation, Jack could sense that the situation had gone sour. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping the staff under his arm. Turning his head away sharply, he began a brisk march forward.

"Hey, old man! Who're you with?"

Did they really think he was old just because of the white hair? C'mon, what old dude wore a hoodie? Or maybe it was meant as an insult. Was it meant as an insult?

"What'cha you looking at? Huh?"

He heard footsteps behind, stamping on the cobbled stones, hurrying after him. He began to pick up the pace.

Come to think about it, was there really a definition of what constitutes as an insult?

He really needed to learn how to focus, didn't he?

"Hey, where're you from?"

"We're talkin' to you, paper-face!"

"Where're you from?"

Jack ignored them, sharp turn into a narrow alley to his right. This lead into a street full of fire exit stairs, but he didn't try climbing any of those. Instead, he decided to use his staff to knock over a row of trash cans, sending them hurtling towards his pursuers.

Actually, did he do anything to provoke them? Why were they chasing him?

Sending a glance back, he saw that the students, though put off by the momentary delay, had managed to overcome the stinky obstacle and resumed their chase. He was way ahead of them, due to his higher dexterity, but the faster he ran, the easier it would be for the wind to pick him up. Any chance of having a 'quiet time' in Burgeshima would dissolve once someone caught a picture of him flying.

When they hit the main road, the streets were thankfully crowded. Being a rather skinny fellow, Jack easily wove his way through the crowd, gaining many angry mutters that were drowned in the beeping of car horns. Peering behind, the white-haired lad noted that the gang had much more difficulty moving through when a new throng of pedestrians just exited the nearby subway. With a cheeky grin, Jack wormed his way forward, before slipping into one of the side shops.

Once he entered, however, he knew his move was a mistake. The wall facing the street was entirely made of glass, and if any of that gang saw him in here, they would come busting in and corner him. He would have no choice but to pull out the big guns. Staff. Snow-shooting-power thing.

"Do you have an appointment?"

He was startled by the voice. Spinning around, he found himself face to face with a young man sitting behind a counter. He looked like a university student too, except that he was donned in a formal shirt and a pair of oblong glasses. And he wasn't chasing him down a street for no apparent reason.

It was then Jack realized that there was a strange scent about this place. It smelled like – a hospital, no, a clinic. The empty rows of plastic chairs did confirm this, as well as the stickers plastered on the glass entrance.

"Do you have an appointment?" The young man, who must have been the receptionist, was getting impatient.

Leaving now risked a collision with his pursuers, so Jack went up to the counter, trying to put on his most innocent expression. "Um, yes. Yes, I do."

The receptionist pushed his glasses back up his nose, before turning to his computer screen. Tapping one of the options on it, he asked, "Name?"

"Um," he prayed very hard that this name continued to be as popular as North once told him it was, "Jack?"

The receptionist raised his brow at him, before making a swipe on the screen. "Three o'clock, Jackson James?"

The clock on the wall said three-fifteen, so Jack nodded cheerfully. "Yep, that's me! The guy with the weird alliteration in my name." He shrugged. "I know, I know, what were my parents thinking?"

He then noticed that the receptionist's tag read 'T. Takachiho'. _Oops._

The stoic young man at the counter didn't comment on his slip-up, merely chiding him, "You're late. Luckily, you're the last patient for today." He nodded at the door down a small corridor. "Go right in."

Jack was more than happy to oblige, for at that moment, he spotted one of his chasers passing the clinic, stopping outside. Before that fellow could turn his head, Jack had already disappeared into the consulting room.

To be honest, he hadn't been to a lot of medical clinics. Hospitals, yes, for big injuries and the occasional broken bone, but clinics, hardly. He didn't exactly get the common cough and cold that normal people did. He did get a fever once, but only once and never again. It was one of the human experiences that he didn't get much of.

However, despite his inexperience, he knew that the big, metal chair in the centre wasn't the typical clinic furniture.

"Just take a seat," a cheery female voice rang out. "I'll be with you in a moment."

Quickly scanning the room, he located its source to be from a small figure garbed in white, masked in blue, scribbling something on her digi-pad. Still skeptical, he left his staff near the door, approaching the odd-looking chair. He slowly lowered himself onto the seat, before twisting his body around, such that his head lay on the rest, his back was reclined on the cushioned nylon, and his bare feet were dangling off the ground. Giving his 'chair' a critical look-over, he noted that one armrest seemed to have a sink and tap hovering over it, while the other had some kind of table for holding instruments. Most prominently, there seemed to be some kind of electrical light right over his head.

Then he remembered.

This was a dental clinic. How could he forget what they looked like? He had seen so many of these – sat in so many of these, so long ago. Not that he ever needed to go to one. His teeth were perfect. Not blowing his own trumpet – they were really perfect. Plaque free, decay free and perfectly aligned to his jaws.

"Is this your first time here, Jackson?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts. "Um, yes." Well, that was true, at least.

"Okay, we're just going to do a checkup and a wash. Yep. Nothing to panic about." He heard a light giggle, followed by the sound of heels clicking across the polished wood. "Lots of patients, even the adults, worry about pain. Which is funny, you know. You'd think that people would get used to 'pain' as they get older."

He noticed that the doctor had taken a seat right next to him, strapping on her gloves as she did. He waited for a comment about the white hair, but it didn't come. The doctor seemed far more occupied with setting her instruments onto the table, then tucking a napkin in his hoodie collar. The operator's light flickered on, and she pulled it closer to him.

"It's only when you do stuff like molar extraction or braces that it hurts, but washing, nah, nev- oh, do you mind opening your mouth?"

It wasn't really a question. It was more like she grabbed hold of his chin and yanked his jaw open herself. Jack barely had time to react before fingers were in his teeth, the taste of rubber threatening to make him gag.

"Wow! You really do floss," he heard her compliment, almost breathless in surprise. "And the maintenance of your teeth – it's just amazing. I've never seen anything like it – I mean, well, I have seen something like it, but it was so long ago it. Yours are just sparkling like freshly fallen -"

She trailed off, but Jack knew how the sentence ended. He had heard this before. And considering how quickly she yanked her hands away from him, the same memory had probably struck her to.

The blinding yellow light was shoved away and, for the first time, Jack really got to look into the doctor's eyes. In a quick glance, it appeared a dull brown but, upon closer scrutiny, one would realize that they were the deepest shade of violet. He had travelled pretty much the whole world, and he only knew one person with eyes like that.

"Tooth?"

She pulled down the mask, revealing her gaping mouth and confirming his suspicions.

She was old, well, _older_. She certainly wasn't the pre-tween that he had accompanied to Coming of Age Day, but she didn't actually look that different. Her oval-shaped face, her small lips, her small, up-turned nose – like a bird's beak, he had once teased her. Yet he knew that the face had aged. There were faded lines where cuts used to be and creases where worries had begun to run.

Both of them just sat there, staring wordlessly at one another.

Jack thought it was best that he started to explain, "Well, as you can tell, I don't actually have an appoint-"

Tooth, this older Tooth, flung her arms around him, almost crushing his bones with the strong arms he knew that his Tooth had. He didn't know what to say, nor did he know exactly what she was trying to convey. So Jack sat still, letting her cling to him, deciding that this was not exactly the reunion he had in mind after fifteen years of absence.

* * *

Rapunzel glanced at her phone. It had already been forty minutes. It could be argued that she was wasting her time here, but her motorcycle had been stolen in her civilian identity. She wasn't sure if it was wise to search for the robber as Solaris. What if he put two and two together? Or maybe she was overthinking it. What did the people of Burgeshima care for a 'C' class hero from Korobe?

Usually, she'd ask Mother for advice. But calling Mother would just lead to her demanding for Rapunzel to go home.

So for now, she would do things the way normal people did. That meant that she would stay in the waiting area of the police post, swinging her legs back and forth while Pascal drooped on her shoulder.

Of course, boredom led her to focus her energies on the current exchange occurring right before her. There must be some kind of privacy rule that dictated that eavesdropping was illegal, especially when it came to confidential matters such as those at the police office. The problem was that the exchange was too loud, such that she had to be deaf in order not to eavesdrop.

"Listen, Miss, if you don't have a permit, you can't do that kind of activity here. I know this stinks, but that's how it is."

"We've never needed a permit in Arenashi. Never." The one who argued back was a brunette girl with two thick braids drawn down each side of face. Her face flushed red in her fury and her lips curled into a distinct frown. She was accompanied by a blocky blond man who seemed at least twice her weight and three times as uncomfortable.

"Well, welcome to Burgeshima. Our red tape is three miles thick and ten miles long," was the police officer's sardonic response. Typically, he would have been the type that Rapunzel would have been apprehensive about. He was a tall, large, muscular, uncouth-looking man. But when he was squashed behind the disproportionately tiny desk in his disproportionately tiny roller chair, he didn't seem so much as threatening as much as exasperated. "So I'll give it to you straight; get a permit from your domestic HQ or go home."

"We don't have a HQ in Burgeshima," the blond guy interrupted, almost sounding embarrassed. "The network we work for is just a medium-size domestic firm. It's not big enough to have that many offices."

"Well, then you can't work here. And if you're caught doing any reporting here, you can get arrested, so take the hint - _don't_." The police officer had been repeating himself over and over to no end and Rapunzel couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. He glanced down at his computer screen, deliberately avoiding the hard glare the fuming brunette was giving him. "Goodbye."

The girl looked like she wanted to say something, but the blond guy grabbed her arm and began pulling her towards the door. "Well, thanks for your time," he called out over his partner's protests. The girl was still trying to claw her way back to the reception, but the boy's grip was too strong. "Have a great afternoon!"

The police officer merely grunted.

Once the duo from Arenashi disappeared out of the door, Rapunzel finally mustered the courage to go up to the desk herself, quivering slightly as she took the seat across that of the police officer. The large man in the uncomfortable uniform glanced over her quickly, then turning back to his screen, sighing out the ever painful greeting, "How can I help you?"

"Um, I was-" she had to deliberately remind herself to look him in the eye while talking, which was hard when he wasn't looking at her "-robbed. My motorcycle was stolen from me. This morning."

The officer's expression didn't change, or perhaps it appeared just a little more defeated than before. "Time?"

She glanced down at her phone, trying not to feel guilty when she caught sight of the photo on the lock screen. Her mother's brown eyes were staring right through the micro-pixels, piercing and hard despite the smile on the lips. "Around ten?"

The officer punched in some letters on his screen. "Street?"

"Um, the Sakana area?"

He typed that in. "Can you describe the thief?"

She swiped on the home screen of her phone, banishing her mother's face for a while. Seeking out the application where she had stored her notes, she found the one that she had hastily texted right after the robbery. She gave the description to him, which he noted down. "Brown hair, brown eyes, smug –er, green vest, lean, muscular. Around mid-twenties. Oh, and he had tattoos."

The officer stopped typing. "Hold on a sec. You said tattoos?"

"Yep. Big ones on his arms." She gestured at her own forearms to demonstrate.

"Can you describe the patterns?"

"Um, it was black and spirally, but it more or less looked like-" she rummaged her satchel, seeking the magazine and pulling it onto the counter. She tapped a finger on the horse symbol at the corner of the cover, "-this."

The officer took one glance at the picture, then squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. Before Rapunzel could ask what the matter was, he had already said, "Sorry, kid, you're not getting your bike back."

Of course she was stunned. "What? Why not?"

For the first time in their conversation, the large bulky man actually looked at her, giving her such a thorough scan that she squirmed in her seat. Finally, he asked, "You're not from Burgeshima, are you?"

Rapunzel nodded, still taken aback.

He pursed his lips together, as if pondering if he should say anything. Perhaps feeling a little sympathetic due to her lost expression, he explained, "The fellow who stole your bike's a Nightmare. Have you heard of the Yakuzas?"

She nodded again. When she was younger, her mother told her stories about old Ameripan during the Feudal age, where the disparate, the outcasts and the criminals gathered together to form organizations of their own. Many were gamblers, so they called themselves the _Ya-Ku-Za_ , or _8-9-3_ in Japanese. That worse hand anyone could get when playing the traditional Japanese blackjack. Perhaps, it was truly an apt description for the untouchables of society.

In the industrial age, the Yakuzas blossomed like sakuras in spring. The spread of capitalism and flooding of migrants into the city proved to be the key to their success, for money drew the new lines by which social class was determined - and crime had lots of money. At one point, Yakuzas had become incredibly influential and powerful syndicates of talent and wealth, and the people never stopped pouring in. There was always room for a struggling student, or an impoverished peddler, or an unemployed immigrant. The Yakuzas promised family. Kinship. Brothers born not out of blood, but loyalty and honor. They painted themselves as modern day Robin Hoods, robbing the rich to feed the poor, attacking the lofty and protecting the weak. In many ways, they were almost like Supers – except no superpowers and the affinity with crime.

"Well, in Burgeshima, they're real, and they're big people. The Nightmare Yakuza's the worst of them." The officer shook his head, looking grim. "I tell you this – chasing down your bike is not worth the pain it'll bring. Trust me. You don't want to mess with them. I'm sorry, but I think you're just gon'na have to get used to public transport."

She wanted to ask him what could possibly scare him so about a bunch of gangsters, but then she realized that it wasn't just fear.

His exasperation, his exhaustion, his defeatedness – it wasn't out of laziness, or cowardice. It was experience. He was by no means a young fellow - his late forties, it appeared. This was someone who had witnessed the iron grip of these giants she never really knew existed, and had the seen the consequences of non-conformity.

"You should go home, kid," were his final words, before gluing his hollowed eyes on the screen once again.

* * *

 _"_ _Did_ _you know that Krei might have Yakuza links?"_

Hiccup blanched. "Really? We're really going with this trope again?"

Sundown was due in fifteen minutes, but Hiccup had no fear of the night streets of Burgeshima. He was sitting comfortably in the youth hostel café, tapping on the free WIFI and eating instant ramen. Wireless headphones had been slapped over his ears, connected via Bluetooth to his laptop. Toothless sprawled on his lap, snoozing peacefully despite the blaring EDM and the chatting teenagers.

 _"Well, at least I'm trying to fit the pieces together."_ Fishleg's voice sounded peeved through the headset. _"I've_ _been_ _digging around the last forty-eight hours for any connection between Krei and 13, and the only one is the Yakuzas."_

Hiccup was still skeptical as he set his chopsticks on top of the plastic bowl. "Really?"

 _"You've got any better ideas?"_

He sighed, scratching the back of the cat's ear, to which Toothless purred approvingly. "Alright, let's hear it."

 _"Okay. Alistair_ _Krei apparently_ _grew up in downtown Burgeshima. His potential in robotics was discovered during his teenage years, but his family was caught up in lots of financial difficulties – not to mention they didn't have the cleanest police records."_

Hiccup had to switch off the button in his brain that would have made him chant 'trope' over and over.

 _"Krei was supposed to have withdrawn for university at that point of time, but it just happened that a rich businessman he had met in a school science fair offered to sponsor his education. Even after graduation, the businessman invested heavily in Krei Tech's start up. It_ _is_ _said that Krei was so grateful to his benefactor that he reserved a luxurious office in each of his buildings just for him."_

Hiccup crinkled his forehead, idly scrolling through the data sheets scattered over his screen. "So, this businessman is…"

 _"Kumori Nakahara."_

Hiccup racked his brains, then shook his head. "I have no idea who that is."

 _"I didn't either, until I did some comparisons. Check out the photo I sent you."_

The brunette boy gazed down to his screen, discovering from a little pop-up on his screen that he indeed had received something from inbox. He clicked on the first attachment and found himself looking at a photograph. It was an old one that had to be scanned in, obviously, given the yellowish wash on one side and the faded colors. It showed some kind of opening ceremony for a building – a Krei Tech building - Hiccup figured once he spotted Krei standing in the middle, cutting some ribbon. Fishlegs had drawn up a small white box around the one of the faces in the crowd. Hiccup tapped to zoom in, giving him a close-up view of the person in question. He was a pale fellow, with a pointed nose and a grim demeanor.

 _"Okay, now look at the second photo I sent."_

Hiccup did just that, and realized that he was the same man, except this time he was dressed in a black kimono, with other gentlemen robed similarly. "So they're both this Kumori Nak- nak- whatever, guy?"

 _"Yep, except in the second picture, he isn't cited as Kumori Nakahara. Apparently, it's just one of the many aliases he has."_

Now Hiccup was starting to get really intrigued. Leaning closer to the screen, squinting at both photos carefully, he asked, "So what's his real name?"

 _"No one knows, actually,"_ Fishlegs admitted. _"But he's best known as Pitch Black, the Nightmare King."_

That name made Hiccup straighten up.

Berkazaki didn't have Yakuzas. They had crime syndicates and gangs, but definitely no Yakuzas. The hooligans that he had battled with as Knight were driven by nothing more than money and power. Sometimes they did find more sophisticated means to do so, such as dabbling in the mystical or trying to break into other dimensions, but the glue that held the organizations were purely mercenary. Yakuzas might carry out the same activities as other criminals, but they always took an 'above and beyond' sort of approach. Ideals drove the society. Rules kept them in check. Loyalty held them together.

Did he know Pitch Black? Well, he had heard of him. The ganglords of Berkazaki and their minions had spoken about the Nightmare Yakuza, and Hiccup had known that the Red Death himself had had dealings with them. The King was a much discussed topic, yet all that could be said about him was merely speculation. None of the Berkazakian mobsters had ever met this enigmatic figure, who seemed like the embodiment of darkness himself. All held him in awe and fear, for surely none could cross the Nightmare King and live.

Letting out a sigh, Hiccup relaxed back into the chair. "Okay. So your theory is?"

 _"Well, we all know that 13 is kind of the hero in Burgeshima,"_ Fishlegs continued. _"So maybe he used the attack as a jab at Pitch. Like a taunt, or a threat."_

Hiccup pursed his lips together. His dinner was getting cold, but he didn't mind so much, having lost his interest in it.

 _"Hiccup?"_

He scanned the café briefly, wondering what went on in the minds of the people who lived here. Did they live in fear of tomorrow? Did they struggle violently to live for today? What kind of city could create a 'hero' that fought crime with crime itself?

"Too many gaps, Fishlegs," he answered at last. "What about the thirty casualties? The injured?"

 _"Maybe…he thinks of it as collateral damage?"_

Hiccup was still unconvinced. "It's too careless. And why go out of his way to choose Krei? Why not hit the other Nightmare members in Burgeshima?"

The silence he had heard on the other side told him that Fishlegs didn't have those answers.

"I'll look around tonight," Hiccup told his friend. "See if I can find anything."

The response was somber. _"I guess we can only do that for now."_

"Right." He was just on the verge of taking off the headphones, when a question came to mind. "Oh, how is she?"

He could hear Fishlegs chuckling on the other side and that lightened the mood at once. _"She's having the time of her life. I think she really likes dressing up as you."_

"Please." Hiccup snorted. "We both know she just likes beating people up."

 _"Well…yeah, that too. I'm kind of sorry for the criminals."_ Fishlegs had to clear his throat hard to stop laughing. _"Anyway, she told me to give her love to Toothless, and tell you to look after yourself or she'll come down and kill you."_

"Well, that's encouraging," Hiccup answered with a sour expression, but there was humor in his tone. "Tell her not to break the suit."

 _"Will do. Good luck, Hiccup."_

With that, the conversation ended. Hiccup removed the earphones and switched his laptop off, closing it as he did. The ramen was cold, but still tasty, so he shrugged and decided to finish it up. In his lap, the cat stretched itself, letting out a luxurious purr as it did. One of its green eyes flickered opened, staring right at his munching master.

"Astrid sends her love," the boy told the black feline before taking another mouthful of salt-saturated noodles.

The cat let out a noiseless yawn, seeming to indicate that he was uninterested in 'love' unless it came in the form of fish and belly-rubs. It shifted a little before settling down again, resting its head on its front paws, lazily swishing its tail.

Hiccup merely smiled in amusement, using his free hand to ruffle the fur just a little. "Sleep well, Toothless. We've a long night ahead."

* * *

Kurokuro Hotel was one of the finest places that Burgeshima could offer as a temporary residence. Room sizes ranged from shoe-box apartments to entire floors. The price for staying just one night in the former could be approximated to a year in Harvard – and it was just as exclusive.

Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, her family inheritance included one of most powerful financial empires in Ameripan and money wasn't an issue. It was sadly because of these wonderful privileges that she was trapped in a classy five-star hotel restaurant, surrounded by elegant people, wishing she could slam her forehead against the table and scream and being unable to do so, because she would hit her head on some fifteen pieces of utensils before her. She stared down miserably at her beautiful gown – her _evening dress_ , as her aide had corrected her after laying it out. She wished that she could be prowling the rooftops of Dunbuoka, her cloak flapping in the wind and her bow in her hand. But nope, she was stuck here. In stilettos. In a tight green dress.

And this was only her first of many wretched days in Burgeshima.

"Champagne, miss?"

Merida glanced up at the smartly-dressed waiter by her side, raising a brow. "I'm seventeen, doofus. You shouldn't be offering me that."

The attendant turned crimson, and she couldn't help but feel better at his distress. "Oh, sorry. Can I get you some sparkling water?"

She cringed at the thought. Truly - there was nothing quite as disgusting as sparkling water. Who invented that stuff? "Just get something out of the tap, won't you?"

The waiter did leave her, probably feeling disturbed by her lack of polish, but Merida didn't really care. She had already spent a day smiling and greeting people she didn't even know, sitting through meetings that she didn't understand and trying to pretend that all these pretentious kowtowers weren't just sucking up to their future CEO.

 _Jings_ _, c_ _rivens_ _,_ _help me boab._ One day she really was going to be a CEO. Or get married to someone who would do that for her.

It took a remarkable amount of self-control for her not to flop down on the table, grab the table cloth and growl.

Her water arrived and she downed a big gulp of it, not caring about the disapproving looks the waiter sent her. It wasn't as if she could get drunk on this. Placing the glass back onto the smooth satin table, she eyed the empty seat across her own, half-hoping that by glaring very hard at it, no one would appear.

This was her mother's arrangement, naturally. In a matter of fact, all of the dates that Merida had ever been to were all arranged by her mother. Unlike the other girls who attended her posh, prestigious prep school, Merida tended not to experience the longing for a significant other to fill the emptiness in her heart. While other girls from notable families giggled over their coming-out dresses and possible husbands-to-be, she spent her time brooding about how to destroy the beast that ruined her childhood.

There were no pockets in her gown, which showed all the more how impractical and useless the lump of fabric was. Instead, she carried with her now a tiny little Chanel bag that was only big enough to put in her phone and a box of foundation powder – or was that the blusher? It wasn't even a very good weapon to hit people with, given how light it was.

So after retrieving said phone from also said annoying, useless purse, Merida proceeded to open up her mail and reread that dreadful last-minute letter her mother sent to her this afternoon right after a luncheon with the staff in the company.

" _Merida:_

 _I've arranged for a companion to accompany you for the various social gatherings you'll need to attend. He's from a good, respectable family of lawyers based in Burgeshima, so for goodness sake don't rip his head off unless you want to sit through court trials and my nagging."_

She rolled her eyes. There would be nagging regardless of what she did anyway.

" _He's single and unattached. Yes, he's about six years older than you, but I think you should consider him nonetheless. You can't keep throwing out your options."_

'Yes, Mum. Obviously I'm dying to find a husband and tie myself down at seventeen,' had been her scornful mental response the first time she read the letter and it was still her response now.

" _You'll be meeting him for dinner at seven at the Kurokuro Restaurant. Do be polite and grateful. He's a busy person and taking time off to accompany_ _you for_ _this. Please don't embarrass me and try, for goodness' sake,_ _try_ _to enjoy yourself."_

She switched the screen off, stuffing the device back into the smaller-than-a-taco purse, scowling. She hated all these stupid dates. Not only were they a waste of time, but the company was usually tasteless. The first guy she ever went out with had such a thick accent that she couldn't understand anything he said. The second spent all his time taking selfies and running his fingers through his luscious black locks. The third just stared into space and drooled. _Drooled_! The only fun part was when she boxed him between the eyes. Got her in trouble, but still fun.

"I'm terribly sorry that I'm late."

In the periphery of her vision, Merida realized that someone had filled the seat across hers and her mind mournfully yelled, _'Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo-'_

"It's just that one of my clients went a bit crazy just now, so I had to calm him down. The hearing's tomorrow, so it's all a huge rush of preparation and – I won't bore you with the details."

To be fair, his appearance didn't set off any prominent alarm bells in her brain. He was a redheaded, clean-shaven – though leaving the sideburns was an odd choice. He looked fairly tall, but not that much more than herself. The slim-fit tailcoat over the starched shirt revealed a lean figure that appeared almost athletic and the green eyes gleamed with the love of intelligence and wit.

"Ah, right. Where are my manners?" He stood up, holding out a hand towards her. It was then she noted that his cuffs were drenched in sweat, which meant that he had come in his working attire. "Welcome to Burgeshima, Ms. Dunbroch."

Gingerly, she placed her hand his and was surprised by a firm handshake. Considering that he didn't try kissing her hand like some Victorian-era chauvinist, he passed the first test.

As both of them took their seats again, she asked directly, "So, who are you?"

"Sorry." He laughed, and it was a cheerful one, unaffected and unabashed. "I just introduce myself to so many people on a daily basis that I forget who I've introduced myself to sometimes." He cleared his throat, gesturing to himself. "I'm Hans Westergaard."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 ** _Seijin no Hi_ (Coming of Age Day) is a holiday in Japan celebrated on the first Monday of Janurary every years. It's basically a time when 20 year olds come together and celebrate entering society as an adult.**

 **Note that in this story, only Jack's the one suffering from immortality issues in the ROTG cast.**

 **All my knowledge of the Yakuzas come from Wikipedia.**

 **Sorry if the definitions of 'Supers' keep changing, but if you think about it, language is always changing.**

 **In my mind, Ameripan's history is roughly like this: In the Feudal Age, it started out as a Japanese-ish monarchy. Thus, Japanese stuff are usually referred to as 'traditional'. After the Industrial Age, when there was huge influx of immigrants, did Western influence become a lot stronger. Whereas the Japanese elements are clearer, the American side consists mixed cultures, such as Hiccup being of Norwegian descent, and Merida being of Scottish.**

 **Up Next: Some prowling in the night. Some backstory (maybe).**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **There are some days which I think people hate this story, and there are others which I think they love it. I'm honestly confused, but okay, whatever.**

 **Guys, please give a round of applause to _waveringshadow_ , who has valiantly volunteered to my beta reader! Grammar mistakes, beware!**

 **(Grammar mistakes: Eh. Heard that before.)**

 **Mailbox for Guest:**

 **Me basically (Jan 5): Thank you loads! I doubt that I'm truly flawless, and there are times that I'm too lazy to be descriptive. Still, I'm glad that you're enjoying this so far.**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	6. Chpt 6: Emotion and Response

"What did I do wrong, Tooth? I didn't even stare that long."

"It was the fact that you stared at all was the problem, Jack," she explained as she led him towards the apartment. It was an old run-down thing, bearing the faded charm of the Neo-classical façade crafted during the Jazz era. Such age in its heritage meant that the keys used to unlock it were still the old metal ones that fit into handcrafted locks, rather than those glossy, boring black cards everyone used nowadays. This was precisely what Tooth used to open up the main door.

It felt just like the old times; strolling around the city till the lights went dim, their arms just brushing against one another, grabbing a sandwich before heading home. Well, maybe his coat was dustier and her steps were heavier. The glimmer that her eyes once held seemed to have faded, only holding perhaps a sprinkling of that wonderful fairy dust. His hands were coarse now, rubbed with sores and scars from rough experiences. Yet there was something nostalgic – even magical about this moment.

"Tensions have been running high over the last two weeks," she told him whilst ushering him into the building. "People are preparing for war. Anything can be perceived as a threat."

"War?" The word alone sent tremors down his spine. The fingers that grasped his staff almost lost their grip. His eyes became abruptly downcast, but his companion hadn't noticed while locking up the door.

"A gang war. The Chinese triad has been gradually encroaching Black territory. Conflict seems inevitable." She led him up the stairs, their path lit by the old yellow lights glowing on the side.

"So it is true," Jack murmured, more to himself than to her while using the staff to hoist himself up every three steps. He had hoped that, by now, some other criminal would have taken over. There were so many villains once, so surely there was some other that could rule Burgeshima. But no. The combined cunning and fortitude of the Boogeyman prevailed across time and the kingship of underworld had not been so easily lost.

Jack never really hated Pitch per se. Even back when he was a little more than a gangster, Jack never hated him. He despised the acts that he committed, but hate? Jack didn't really know if he could hate anyone. But he did know that Pitch loathed him with great passion.

"What is?"

Before Jack could answer, a crash and a scream were heard behind one of the wooden doors along the corridor.

Tooth glanced towards the door, worried. "Oh no."

It was then that he realized that was her apartment. Without even asking, he had his staff poised high, ready for the strike. His eyes were glued to the door. With tensed shoulders, Tooth stuck her key into the lock, turning it cautiously. A howl emerged from within, which made Jack tighten his grip on the staff, widening his stance as he did.

A spurt of maniacal laughter emerged just as Tooth pushed the door open, abruptly cut off by the sound of creaking hinges. It was only then that Jack noted that there was some old rock and roll playing in the background, the sound of pattering feet and … was that a _giggle_?

Tooth sighed. "I should have known."

The sight that greeted Jack was a strange one. Oh, no, it wasn't that strange to have one's living room joined with one's kitchen and placed right in front of the entrance. Many chic establishments tended to enjoy the large spaces such non-traditional housing formats provided, and despite her age, Tooth was a very chic person. It also wasn't that strange to decorate one's living room-cum-kitchen with an assortment of souvenirs. Tooth had always been a colorful person, so the odd nooks and crannies hanging off the walls weren't at all out of character. The 'art pieces' that were really smears of paint. The decorated ukulele sitting beside an ebony elephant - probably fake ebony, but Jack didn't judge. The beaded shoes with floral patterns. He could even recognize the masquerade mask she wore for prom hanging off one of the nails.

No, the strange sight was actually a full-grown man wearing a mixing bowl on his head.

Flour was dusted upon on the sides of his green vest and his arms were coated with icing. Butter-chocolate mix was mashed into his hair, white-brown drops trickling down his chin and down his shirt. The extent of his annoyance was clearly marked on his countenance, if the folded arms weren't a dead giveaway. All around the kitchen were splatters of smashed batter and sprinkles did adorn parts of the floor. Jack had his staff lowered swiftly, barely able to help grinning at the humorous sight.

This irritated fellow donning the cooking tool turned his head towards the pair who had just entered the scene. He didn't even acknowledge Jack, addressing Tooth, "I'm never staying alone with those two monsters _ever_ again." He twisted his neck towards the dining table, scowling visibly. "You get that, _monsters_?"

There was that giggle again, and this time it was louder. Peering closely under the dining table, Jack noted that between the chairs legs were two small figures huddled together. A little hand raising the flap of the tablecloth occasionally.

The man scowled harder, wiping some of the dripping liquid off his cheek with his sleeve. Facing Tooth, he told her with undeniable exasperation, "See what I have to put up with?"

"I do," Tooth answered sympathetically, but her white-haired companion could see the upturned corner of her lip threatening to stretch into a smile. "I'm sorry, Flynn."

"You're not." The fellow sneered, removing his sticky metal hat and dumping it by the kitchen sink with an unhappy 'clunk'. Uncertainly, Jack straightened his back, squinting more closely at this stranger. He had never liked it when people were nasty to Tooth, and sadly, there were too many who were. He remembered the times when she had got those nasty letters from classmates, or graffiti scribbled on her desk, or just mean people shoving her around and telling her to 'Go home!' She'd insist that it was nothing, but he'd never believe her. She had to make him swear not to go after them, even bribing him with cookies and sweets, which, though he hadn't needed the nutrition, were delicacies he hated to resist. He knew that she hated being treated like an alien as much as he did.

"Well, I'm going back to my place now," the one called Flynn announced, making his way to the door. "And I'm _never_ -" he shot a pointed glare at the table, where muffled snickers emerged "- _ever_ coming back."

With an amused nod, Tooth moved aside as the dripping mess of a man stomped his way to the exit. Before he passed through the doorway, he gave Jack a quizzical stare.

The white-haired boy eyeballed him back, furrowing his brows.

The brunette with the dried pastry streaked on his face finally remarked, "That's a painful color."

Jack took a step back, blinking.

"Really, all that bleaching probably killed your scalp," Flynn continued, almost concerned in his tone. Without any further words, he marched out of Tooth's apartment, heading straight up your stairs. Jack couldn't quite keep from staring at this erratic fellow who swung so easily from annoyance to kindness.

"He works in hairstyling."

Jack glanced back at Tooth, questions still scribbled over his visage.

The woman jerked her head towards the babysitter-slash-neighbor-slash-absolute-weirdo, who was still ascending the steps. "You know – cutting, dying, perming. That kind of thing."

Jack decided that he would just take her word for it.

Once the apartment door was locked, Tooth headed straight for the dining table, with Jack trailing uncertainly behind. The dentist paused right in front of it, folding her arms and tapping her foot. "Jamie, get out from under there. Sophie, you too."

The squeaking of metal chairs against tiles was heard as a pair of dirty-faced kids crawled out from their hiding spot. The girl, who couldn't be older than four, was a scrawny little thing, with a smile both equally crooked and endearing. She glanced up at the frowning woman, her expression clearly showing how merrily ignorant she was about the severity of her crimes. However, the boy who followed behind was at least seven years older than his sister and he was well aware that there were consequences. Both children stood themselves before Tooth, though Sophie did take the opportunity stuff a finger in her mouth, gawk at Jack and mumbled in garbled mouthfuls, _"Pretty, pretty."_

Not certain on how to respond, Jack gave an awkward wave to her.

On the other hand, any hint of glee had been wiped clean from Tooth's expression and to the two children, she must have seemed frighteningly mad. To the elder of the vicious duo, she asked, "I suppose you can explain this?"

The young boy squirmed under her gaze, his eyes darting left and right as he tried come up with an excuse. "It was an accident?"

"Uh-huh." Tooth cocked a brow.

"We were baking," Jamie began.

"Baking," she repeated.

"And then we couldn't agree on what flavor to put in the mix," the boy continued nervously, pressing his chocolate-stained fingers awkwardly together.

" _'We'_ being-"

"Me and Flynn."

"Uh-huh." Jack noted how her brows were gradually being drawn together.

"Then, um, Sophie left Mr. Hops on the ground, and Flynn sort of, um, slipped on him-"

"Mr. Hops?" Jack murmured to himself, a grin sneaking onto his face again as he observed the little plush bunny held in Sophie's small hand – the one that wasn't currently covered in her own drool, that was.

"-he fell on the table and grab the mixing bowl as he fell and it flew and, er, yep."

"Is that all?" Tooth asked, the gleam in her eye warning against any missing details.

"Um-" Jamie shifted uneasily "-we might have thrown some frosting … at him…" his voice dropped several decibels "…and the extra flour…and the butter…"

A pin drop would have sounded like a crashing meteor in the silence that followed. Sophie continued gazing at the white-haired stranger, Jamie continued twiddling with his thumbs, Tooth continued glaring them down and Jack continued feeling an incredible yearning to jump out of the window to end this awkwardness.

Finally, the lady spoke, her tone severe, "You will clean up this mess and go to bed straight after. No TV, no supper. Tomorrow, both of you will apologize to Flynn."

The boy shrank back, though his sister was still oblivious to their predicament. "In person?"

Tooth rolled her eyes. "Yes. In person."

With a reluctant sigh, the boy pulled his sister by the hand, grabbing a cloth near the sink and began wiping one of the cupboards. With that settled, Tooth made her way out of the kitchen, going down an empty corridor. Jack followed her, not sure if it was considered bad manners, but he had questions rattling in his mind.

"Who are they?" he asked as she pushed the brown door open, revealing a surprisingly plain bedroom. The only décor, if it was considered décor at all, was a tray of photos lined up on one of her drawers. He headed straight towards them, picking up the first of the lot. It was her family – her birth one, back when she was barely fifteen and still living in India. He set that one down and took up the next one.

"The children and Flynn, or just the children?" Tooth had set her bag down and disappeared into a walkway from her room, entering what Jack reckoned was a kind of walk-in closet.

"Um, the first, I guess." This photograph was one that made him smile. It was Tooth's graduation. As the youngest amongst them, and the one taking probably the most intense course, she had been the last of them to do so. Her family hadn't been able to fly in on that day, but the Guardians had every intention of filling those gaps. It had been North's idea for all of them to rent academic regalia and accompany her to the ceremony – in civilian identities, of course. The Russian-born Super had been well into his mid-thirties and already been sporting a beard at that time. That however didn't stop him from throwing his hat up with as much gusto as any jubilant graduate. Bunnymund, on the hand, was doing his best to hide his face behind his cap, obviously mortified and regretful about agreeing to indulge in North's bizarre schemes. Sandy was barely able to get a peep in thanks to the height difference between him and his peers, but the golden tufts and the mirthful eyes were in lower right corner of the scene was unmistakable. Tooth stood at the centre of attention, proudly holding onto her bachelor's certificate but slightly embarrassed by her friends' display. Jack wasn't in it himself, of course, because he had been the one taking it. No selfie sticks in those days.

"Jamie and Sophie lost their parents two years ago during an accident," he heard her saying in the background over the shifting of plastic bags. "They used to live a few streets down. I took them in because no one else would."

"And Flynn?" Jack wasn't sure why, but he felt a pang of envy at the sight of the other man. The babysitter-slash-neighbor-slash-absolute-weirdo, despite his unkemptly appearance and disgusting headgear at the time, would be considered attractive by modern standards. Jack doubted that Tooth would have a relationship with a neighbor fifteen years younger than her, but at this point, he wasn't too sure of what was and wasn't anymore. He set down the graduation photo and went on to the next one, trying to ignore the strange thudding of heart.

"I first met him when he was seventeen. He was an angry young man – no parents, no siblings. Just him against the world." The sad affection in her voice made him instantly remorseful about his suspicions. "I tried to patch the hole he had in his life, but-" he watched how her shoulders drooped, wondering to himself how this small forlorn woman could have once been one of the greatest warriors the world had ever known "-the streets had already done a number on him." He felt that there was more she wanted to say, but whatever it was, it was glossed over with a light chuckle. "He still calls me Mother Thia sometimes – finds it amusing to tease me about my age."

A deadly question rested on the tip of his tongue, but fortunately, he was not a complete idiot when it came to human interaction. He could tell that the matter of children was not a pleasant one for Tooth, though he didn't really understand why.

As it was, the next photograph in his hand answered his query.

The person in the frame was one that he didn't recognize at once, yet at the same struck him as familiar. She was probably in her early teens, donning green tights and a matching T-shirt, arms akimbo and back facing some countryside backdrop. Her black hair was crop cut and golden rings hung off her ears, lighting up her dark blue eyes. A set of gold-colored feathers were clipped the side of her head and a set of blue ones were attached to the chain circling her neck. She wore a beatific smile that was both mischievous and innocent at the same time. She did resemble Tooth, but she wasn't her, which meant that she could only be one other person.

"Where's Tharshini?"

He happened to glance up just as he said it, so he was in time witness Tooth easing her way out of that closet, bearing a blanket, a pillow and some folded clothes as she did. The strained smile on her face faded instantly and she only blinked, as if she hadn't registered what he had asked at all.

Just as Jack set the photograph back in its place, she answered, as stiff as statue, "She's with her father."

"Oh." The awkwardness filled the space between them again. Tooth placed the items down on her bed, scoping back a loose black strand behind her ears, waiting for him to continue, but again, he didn't know what to say. Should he say he was sorry? Should he congratulate her? Should he try to change the topic and ask how 'Baby Tooth', who really wasn't a baby anymore, was doing? Should he ask her what really happened between her and her ex-husband, who, by the way, he knew absolutely nothing about? Should he ask if she was trying to fill the void in her life by adopting strange children? Should he ask for the bathroom and hide there until he worked out what to ask?

Actually, the last option didn't sound too bad. Except that Tooth would know that he didn't really need to use the bathroom - that's a human thing.

He was spared the agony of the decision when one of the children called for her from the kitchen.

"Well, I should go and help them." She sighed, before picking up the folded clothes and handing them to him.

He, of course, just glanced down a bundle of fabric in confusion.

Tooth shook her head, but the terse facade had been replaced by a wry smile. "When's the last time you had a bath, Jack?"

"I'm not _that_ gross," he defended himself, though still taking the clothes. So maybe his hoodie and trousers had accumulated a considerable amount of dirt, but he didn't really suffer from the effects of body odor and sweat. He didn't really need a bath, though perhaps his feet needed cleaning. And his hands. But really, he wouldn't die without a bath.

"No one really dies from not having a bath, Jack, but the people around them do." With that she shoved him down the corridor, pointing him to the cubicle on the left whilst she hustled back to the kitchen to deal with her charges.

On the bright side, he did have an excuse to stay in the bathroom now. He left his staff outside, knowing that Tooth wouldn't let the children touch it and headed inside, fortunately remembering to close door at the last moment.

He didn't want to admit it, but it was a little tricky trying to remember what everything was. Fortunately, most bottles had instructions printed on their back, so Jack didn't have much problem working out again that shampoo was the one that was for hair and soap was for the body. He allowed himself a moment or two to mock the mouthwash bottle, whose existence he still regarded with smirking derision. Perfect teeth, after all.

Taking off his clothes was like removing a second skin. No, it wasn't because it was sticky and grimy and he needed to pry them off him. It was more like he hadn't taken them off for the last three months and there was a lot of ice plastered between coat, shirt and skin. That, and he felt immensely uncomfortable peering back at his naked self through the mirror, which was happily fitted right over the sink before him.

Anatomically, his body was much similar one of a human being. He had the correct number of limbs, the same number of ribs, the same sort of organs and everything. He even had blood! Or something that just happened to be liquid and sort of reddish. The only notable difference was his skin color: palish white and covered with the thinnest layer of ice. He glanced towards the shower head, wondering if he might accidentally freeze up the plumbing again. Ah – that was the other reason why he didn't bathe often.

Involuntarily, his fingers went to tracing the white and blue figures etched on skin, just below his right collarbone. He was ashamed to admit that he no longer remembered how to read them, only knowing that they were numbers. Bunnymund had suggested that they might have served as a dog-tag, like those Earth soldiers had, or it might be like the brands that ancient prisoners received so that they could be identified. Jack quite hoped it was the former.

He felt a lump in his throat, a sensation that he still found new and uncomfortable. He swallowed, trying to will it away whilst rubbing off the moisture that his eyes had inevitably accumulated. He stepped into the shower, shutting the glass door with a little more force than necessary. He forced himself to take a few breaths before he even dared to turn the 'cold' tap on.

You know what's worse than that forgetting something? Knowing that you forgot something.

Jack was well aware that there was a huge hole in his memory, an aching space that was meant to be filled. In his mind, he could still see spiraling, sparkling buildings and streets of gold that gleamed in the light, but he couldn't remember where they were. He could recall fuzzy faces but he didn't know who they were. The most persistent was a young, girlish voice calling to him, sweetly speaking his old name in a language he no longer could decipher.

He tried to lock them away, ignore them for a little while – at least till he wasn't in a place as dangerous as a shower. But really, why look at them all? Was there any point in remembering a time he couldn't return to?

After all, if his past with the Guardians was an age ago, his life back on his home planet was ancient history.

* * *

Music, as Victor Hugo said, expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. Then perhaps, it is no wonder that so many believe that the art of melody and rhythm is the refuge for the lonely, aching soul.

Her father had purchased a beautiful black piano on her fourteenth birthday. Elsa had loved it once, thinking how lovely those polished keys were, how neat the tuning pins and their string were, how sleek and shining its plates looked in the marble music room. But soon, it hit her that she couldn't possibly play it.

"Well, why not?" her father had asked in a quiet tone that she had come to recognize as angry.

She had tried to explain: how piano was a delicate instrument that needed care to keep it in tune, how she couldn't wear gloves if she was to play it right, and how the core of all music was emotion - a luxury she couldn't afford.

"Well, I suppose then you're going to have to manage it then," he had answered loftily, silencing her retorts with a look. Just as it was in many things, her father's word was law and piano lessons had begun.

It was torture. She had picked up the note system quickly enough and her sense of rhythm and beat had always been usually steady. Her fingers in time became accustomed to the shapes of the keys and switching amongst different melodies became easier. The problem, however, was the feel of it.

Her father liked to think himself a cultured fellow and he had a great appreciation for the romantic composers. That meant that she spent a good deal of time practicing Chopin, Rachmaninoff, Schumann and so forth. It was most unfortunate that these geniuses were fond of the ups and downs of feelings, loving to turn from major to minors to majors in, over and out. Hard hammerings on the keys could turn to gentle flows within splits of seconds, for the theatrical nature of song demanded complexity and passion in its delivery.

The first time she had tried to do a methodical playing, keeping to the time signatures and following the dynamics to the letter. But when she was done, her father just stared at her with absolute contempt and she knew that in his eyes, she had just slaughtered the very essence of the romantic spirit.

Those flighty romantics and their emotions. How she wished her father appreciated the soothing repetition of Baroque composers instead.

Hours were spent nearly every day on the same pieces, trying to feel yet trying not to feel. Many times, whilst trying to channel the energy and power Rachmaninoff wove into his pieces, Elsa would find spikes bursting out from the walls of the music room. The angsty running to and fros that Liszt stuck into his sonatas were a pain, particularly when the frost started coating the keys half way through the thirty-minute song and her fingers got stuck to the board. Even when she attempted to convey the calm that Dvorak had envisioned, a light shower of snow would come pouring from the ceiling, clogging up the strings and letting humidity eat into the wood.

The care of the piano was ultimately her own, so though aides came to sweep out the snow, she was the one who spent countless nights holding a hair dryer to the fingerboards, wiping off the water and retuning the strings. It was boring and it was hard. Music, which was nearly universally adored by the world, grew to be something she truly detested.

Eventually, it reached a point of time that her father stopped asking her to play for him, but she still continued her rituals with the instrument anyhow. It was almost like a challenge, like she was trying to make a point to herself. No matter how hard the piece was, no matter how long and tedious it was, she took it on. She ripped to shreds the complex chords and rolled straight over the arpeggios. The nights that she spent with the hairdryer lessened and her hate towards the instrument slowly decreased. As time when by, she had managed to reach a state where her hands began to express the extremes of emotions while her heart stayed hardened and cold. The piano didn't receive a single scratch.

On that day, her father walked over to her, gave her a mysterious smile and congratulated her. It was supposed to indicate that she had achieved something, that she had sufficiently conquered her fears and that she won.

Then why didn't she feel that way?

Here she was now, going another round of Chopin's _Fantasie Impromptu_ , ramming down on the board, the sixteenth notes from her right hand blaring perfectly against the triplets of her left. By now, the agitated melody stirred very little in her heart, yet her mind was strangely occupied.

As the piece entered the calmer midsection, her gaze wandered out of the window. A spring night hardly seemed like an exciting time from the windows of the _shiro_ , yet she knew that all could not be at peace out there. Somewhere in the street, an unsuspecting pedestrian could get mugged. A homeless child could be abducted and never returned. A bomb sitting at the bottom of a car could be waiting to go off.

Who would stop it? 13? No, if she were 13, she wouldn't be in Burgeshima right now. Some of the Yakuza members that had closer ties to Krei would take offence at his murder. The richer ones might even offer a price on the vigilante's head – not that that would be new. Her father hadn't commented on the event itself, continuing day to day business as usual, as if the topic alone was nothing more than celebrity gossips. She knew that he had never felt gravely threatened by 13. Every now and then, he would gun down some Yakuza fellows, burn up some warehouses and crack through some illegal transfers, but he never seemed to go beyond. A pest, her father had described him sneeringly. He didn't think very much of 13 at all, for Pitch Black had seen the heroes of the golden age. A bloodthirsty teen in a scary suit couldn't scare the Boogeyman.

Then who could?

She knew the answer, but they were unavailable. The Guardians were all in hiding thanks to the Anti-hero act. They were probably living mundane lives, doing mundane things and happily acclimated to the dull and ordinary.

So was that it, then? Leave Burgeshima's fate in the hands of some careless, callous masked fellow who couldn't even kill someone off properly?

She turned her face to the board as she approached the cantabile section, a troubled ache swelling in her brooding heart.

* * *

Let us describe the disadvantages of using paper.

For one, it's not environmentally friendly. Nearby four billions trees in the world are felled a year just for the production of paper and as everyone would have heard by now, that's not just increasing the net carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, but destroying natural habitats of endangered species and shrinking global biodiversity.

Another problem with paper is the matter of space. Digital space could be artificially created and stored in devices as small as a thumb, but storing vast amounts of paper would also require vast amounts of land as well as the manpower and funds to maintain and dust those old shelves. You know, like libraries.

There are many more issues with paper that I could on about, but there is one thing that paper didn't suffer from which digital space did - the problem of getting hacked.

In that case, the only way of obtaining the desired document is to actually switch of the computer, get off your rear, don up some gear and go hunting. Stealing. Physical hacking. You get the drift.

So that was precisely what our hero in black was trying to.

Currently, he was scaling down the six-level police building with a little more than a shield on his back and a harness around his waist. The latter was connected to a handy nylon wire that was also connected to another harness that was strapped to the neck of his dragon. Now, before anyone panics about strangling our favorite black flying reptile, they should be reminded that Toothless, or, as he was in 'hero' identity, Fury, was a large beast with a thick, muscular neck. The weight of his boy was quite insignificant to his strength, so there is nothing to worry about.

In a matter of fact, the Night Fury was peering off the ledge, watching as Knight hopped swiftly from window ledge to window ledge, stopping only at the third floor. The window was barred by a set of metal bars, but with a bit of wire, the boy managed to undo the lock on them and pushed the panel of bars out of the way. By right, an alarm should have sounded with any tempering of the exterior of the building, but Knight had been wise enough to switch off the tripwire system from the top floor before even breaking into the building. The two glass panels that made up the window were unlocked, so he pushed them open with ease.

"I'll be back in a moment, bud," he whispered up to the dragon waiting above. Fury made a guttural sound in response, waiting for the boy to unhook himself from the wire and enter the window before retreating from the edge of the rooftop. That was just in case a passerby passed the Burgeshima Police Department (BPD) building, felt like looking at the moon and saw a pair of huge emerald eyes staring down at them. Never hurt to be cautious.

Knight landed on the wooden floor with barely a tap. After months of near-arrest situations thanks to noisy footwear, he had made certain that his boots were all sound-proofed with a layer of rubber soles. Below that layer was another of dragon scales, procured from the shedding by the dragon. That was after a few experiences of walking on boiling lava. Not joking.

There were three cameras in the room that Knight had just entered, but all had already been hacked and put on looped feed. After all, a police HQ that chose to keep everything in hard copy files in this era was unlikely to take precautions against typical vigilante tricks.

Nonetheless, the Knight of Berkazaki had been surprised before, so he took caution with every step forward, his green eyes flickering back and forth behind the visor. He was in what he called his 'scouting gear' – just shield, helmet, bullet-proof vest, shoulder-guards, utility belt, gloves and shin-covering boots. That also meant that if someone came bursting in with a machine gun, he might actually take a bullet to his other limb and become an absolute cripple for good. Since that was a fate he would much rather avoid, Knight worked quickly. The scanners installed in the helmet detected no motion sensors – thank Thor for old-fashioned police buildings. The helmet visor also had the night-vision feature, which allowed him to work in the darkness without having to hold a torch in his mouth, as he had done back in his early days.

You must be asking yourself at this point why our Berksakian hero had to resort to such measures to find the information. Didn't vigilantes usually do things like scaring hoodlums out of their wits and interrogating them?

Well, Knight had done that before, and in full honesty, he wasn't very proud about it. If there was a way that he could get what he needed without any conflict, he would. Secondly, interrogating members of a Yakuza would be lot trickier than those of any other gang. After all, they were fiercely loyal people. It's been said that members would rather have themselves dismembered bit by bit than betray their family.

So if you couldn't get info from the criminals, the next best source was the police.

Admittedly, breaking and entering was again not the easiest way of doing things, and in some ways, it could be considered burglary. There had been a time that Knight had been welcome enough to talk to police officers face to face, and many cases had been solved efficiently through such communications. However, ever since an irrefutable warrant for his arrest was issued following his second-degree murder, he could barely step into a police rear view mirror without getting shot at. Besides, his father had warned that at least half of the cops in the city were in this or that gang's pockets. Knight was certain that the numbers were far larger.

The archives of the BPD was considered small, taking up less than a fifth of floor space. All the drawers had their files catalogued first according to numerics, then to the alphabet, which meant that searching for what he needed should be easy. Of course, that did not stop him from spending five minutes ploughing through the 'T' files, until it occurred to him that Burgeshima's vigilante usually wrote his name in numerals rather than letters.

Shutting the 'T' drawer, he went back to the first shelf of the archives, yanking open the first numerics drawer. It didn't take him long to find an impressive stack of papers all about 13. He undid the yellow flap and took a brief glance through it just to confirm that it was the right one. Seeing that it was, he closed the file, ready to leave the archives when another idea struck him.

He went back down the shelves, stopping at the 'B' drawer and yanking it open. Quick browsing allowed him to procure another file, though this one was surprisingly thin. Glancing through it, he was amazed about how little the BPD had on the notorious leader of the Nightmares. In a matter of fact, the printed sheets merely described the occasions upon which the _Kumicho_ himself had sued businesses, work unions and even other gangs. There were no mentions of possible murders or even a hint of involvement in illicit activity himself.

Puzzled, Knight replaced this useless file, sliding the drawer close. He continued to brood as he headed over to the 'N' drawer. Pulling it open, he was surprised to find that its files were all in disarray. He dug his fingers into the folders, trying to find some order in the mess. Once he got all the folders back to their vertical positions, he noticed that there was quite a significant gap between some of the files, a space that should have been filled by the 'Nightmare' folder.

It was then that he also noticed something sharp poking him in the back of his neck.

 _"Don't e'en 'hink abit movin'."_

He froze up instantly, all his senses suddenly concentrated on that small area on the back of his neck. The bullet-proof vest didn't cover that area, nor did the helmet – again, it was gear meant for scouting, not fighting. He wasn't looking conflict, so as Murphy's Law demanded, conflict looked for him.

 _"Slowly place th' file oan th' fluir. Keep yer hands whaur Ah can see th'm."_

It took him a while to figure out the whispered words rolled up in that thick accent and longer still realize that the person was referring to the '13' file. Whilst his body complied with the instructions, thoughts raced through his head like a bullet train, seeking desperately for a way out. He wanted to kick himself for letting down his guard. He should have paid attention to how the contrast in his goggles suddenly changed. Now, he could see a dim bluish reflection playing on the metallic drawers and its source was definitely behind him.

As he slowly bent his knee, the file in his right hand touching the wooden boards, his left hand held face down and empty. He could feel the cool tip of the sharp object following his neck as he crouched down, giving him no opportunity for a counter attack.

That was, until a scream was heard.

The piercing, reptilian call was one that Knight had long been accustomed to, but his attacker was not. Our young hero could feel a twitch in the hand of his assailant, causing the weapon to waver from its target.

So Knight struck.

Being crouched on the ground gave him the chance to practice one of the floor-sweeping kicks that his master had been training him. It didn't knock his attacker off his or her feet, but it did cause some projectile to fly from the attacker's hand, smacking straight into one of the drawers. The sharp object was no long pointing on his neck, which gave Knight free reign on his movement once more. He was aware that the attacker had probably reloaded his weapon by now, so he immediately unstrapped the shield from his back, scooping it up on his right arm and successfully blocking the next projectile, letting it ricochet off. He rolled himself away from the next strike, hopping back to his feet and faced his foe, covering his torso with the shield.

The sight that greeted seemed strange at first – two dim bobbing blue light floating before him. Then night-vision filtering revealed a figure garbed in a flowing cloak, a hood pulled over the outline of the head, where the glowing blue eyes were. In the attacker's hands were a bow and an arrow, with latter pointing at his face.

He knew who this was. Fishlegs had kept tabs on all the other young Supers, just in case any of them went rogue. Though honestly, this Super was already pretty much a rogue herself.

"What are you doing out of Dunbuoka?" He tried to make it sound like this was just a regular café conversation. In actual fact, his arms were actually shaking. He had heard stories about her and they were mostly bad stuff.

He watched as the small blue lights vanish as she blinked, only to return less than a millisecond later. The arrow tip seemed to glow in the illumination. _"Ah dorn't 'hink we've mit."_

"You're the Will-O-Wisp, right?" he continued as casually as he could. He subtly moved his left hand down to his utility belt, hoping that the shield prevent her from seeing that. "I've heard about you. You're the one who put the Demon Bear in jail."

He could almost see the Wisp crinkle her nose in the darkness – except that he couldn't really see her nose with those glaring blue 'headlights' blurring his visuals. He was praying that she didn't know about his night-vision problem. If what he heard about her was true, all she needed to do was do her teleporting in his face and he would be blinded by a burst blue light. _"Weel, Ah ha'e nae idea who ye 'ur."_

A surge of annoyance swelled inside him even as he retrieved the needed token from one of his belt pockets. "Really? You've never heard of Knight and Fury?"

 _"Ye Knight?"_ The disbelief could be heard through that echoing brogue. The bow was not lowered. _"Aren'ae ye supposed tae hae a dinosaur?"_

He just had to roll his eyes at that. "Seriously? He's a dragon. When are people going to understand that?"

He could detect a deadpan just by the tone alone, though the arrow was still stretched to its maximum. _"Thir's a difference?"_

He had explained it so many times that he could have made a world record on it. "Dinosaurs are not dragons! They're not even remotely related to dragons! Dragons are reptiles!"

 _"Aren'ae dinosaurs reptiles?"_

"No! Well, not in the modern sense. I mean, they are in some ways reptiles, but they've got features that are not seen in still-living reptiles, like sprawling limb posture-"

He never finished his sentence, for both of them were interrupted by the sound of angry voices. Amidst the scuffle, the guards on duty had been alerted of their presence. Again, Hiccup cursed his own foolishness. He was masked now, so no danger about secret identity loss, but he preferred it that Knight and Fury's presence in Burgeshima remained announced – not to warn 13 off, if nothing else.

He cursed himself again mere seconds later when the arrow came zipping towards him. Fortunately, instincts saved him, letting him pulled the shield up in time so that the projectile only struck the Gronkle iron with a 'clang'. In that time, the voices had gotten louder and Knight winced when he heard magazines being loaded into their chambers. When he lowered the shield once again, he saw that the Wisp bending down to pick up the '13' file. With one of her hands full, she wouldn't be able to shoot at him.

He would have preferred it that they work together, because they probably had similar goals and were both Supers in their own right, but the continuous strikes the Wisp had sent in his direction made it clear that she didn't like team-ups.

With much reluctance, he set into motion his method of retaliation.

Flipping his shield horizontal, he joggled the switch at the bottom, causing the metallic plates to split into two pieces, forming a crossbow. Swiftly, he loaded the miniaturized bola and pulled back on the string, aiming towards his cloaked rival.

Just as the Wisp jumped to her feet, the token raced towards her, breaking out of its catch mid-air and expanding into a wire net. A cry fell from the Wisps lips as she was abruptly flung across the room, hitting the back end of the drawers whilst being tangled in the metallic trap. Knight straightened up the crossbow, toggling the switch and reverting it back to shield mode. As the steps on the stairs grew to thunderous volumes, he darted forward, picking up the file that the Wisp had dropped in her surprise, then raced towards the window. He was sure that a Super such as the Wisp would have no problem evading the authorities, so he didn't worry about her. Moreover, if he was going to ever see the 'Nightmare' file, which was undoubtedly in her possession, he needed to keep his own bargaining chip. That meant that he had to disappear from her line of sight.

"Bud, get ready!"

He was no stranger to heights, so jumping out of a window didn't really scare him as much as it did during his first runs. One hand deftly caught hold of the wire he had left hanging during his break-in and a single pull was enough to trigger the recoil. He zipped upwards, soaring straight past the fourth, fifth and sixth floors. Using the speed he had gained, he flipped himself up into the air, landing precisely on his dragon's saddle. Toothl-, _er, Fury_ warbled a greeting.

He held the file close to his chest, leaning himself forward and locking his left boot the step pedal. "Let's go."

At once, the Night Fury plunged into the sky, leaving the chaos erupting in the BPD far behind. Knight didn't allow himself to relax until they broke into the clouds, and when they finally did, he let out a sigh of relief. The BPD would be furious to find their archives wrecked, but they wouldn't have announced it to the press and reveal their own incompetency. As for the Wisp, she could only shoot what she could see, right? And from he heard of her, her powers didn't include flight.

He shouldn't have underestimated her, because just then, an arrow flew straight towards him.

He jumped back in shock, avoiding it just in time but almost falling out of his seat in the process. Fury snarled in rude surprise, swerving sharply to the right, then left, combing for the attacker in the sky. Knight's own eyes were darting frantically around, but he wasn't sure what he was looking for.

A blink of blue sprouted in between some clouds, and then another arrow came flying towards. He leaned away just in time, but the shock loosened his grip around the file. It slipped away as the wind carried him forward.

"No!" The chagrined cry couldn't reverse the damage. Fortunately, the Night Fury was alert. With rapid swoop, he had turned them about, zooming after the falling folder. Knight propped himself up, pressing the balls of his feet – _er,_ foot and plus prosthetic - against the stirrups, reaching a hand towards his prize. Just as his fingers were about to touch it, his visor screen exploded into blue.

He yelled, covering his eyes, but it was too late. The combined illumination of the night vision and the brilliant blue left black spots bubbling before him. No matter how many times he shook his head and blinked, his vision didn't return.

He felt vibrations rumbling from the back of Fury's throat and heard the sonic boom that he knew only his dragon could make, but then he heard rustling of paper in the wind and a triumphant cry in that thick accent - _"Thenk ye!"_

Though blinded, he still quickly fumbled for his utility belt, yanking out one of the many gizmos he kept there. Flinging it forward, he prayed that by some miracle this would work.

He couldn't be sure that the Wisp was truly gone until he felt that Fury had stopped shifting below him. He heard the dragon hissing in anger, and he knew that the mission had failed. The Wisp now had both the '13' and 'Nightmare' files. The Knight and Fury had left empty-handed.

"You did your best, bud," he told the disgruntled beast, patting him on the head while trying to settle his own internal seething.

It was a good five minutes before Hiccup could see again. He tore off his helmet, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly, trying to drive away the remnants of the dots. The waning moon shining above gave him all the light he needed. He set the helmet down on the saddle, rummaging his belt for the PDAs he carried. He flicked it on and the sudden glare of the screen made him wince. Giving his eyes a few seconds to get accustomed to the new brightness, he scrolled through the programs before tapping on the one he needed, holding his breath in anticipation.

The sigh that left his lungs that moment was one full of relief.

Though the mission had been botched, his last minute scramble did save things. From the movements of the red dot on the screen, he knew that the Wisp still had no idea that she had a tracker planted on her. She also didn't know that he knew that she was currently in a house on the outskirts of Dunbuoka. A few minutes later, the red dot disappeared and the screen changed. Now, the red dot marked her return to a hotel in Burgeshima. The Hotel Kurokuro, to be precise.

"Let's get back to the hostel, bud."

After a goodnight sleep, he would get Fishlegs to run the addresses of the two places and list the possible identities of the hooded vigilante.

If she wasn't going to play nice, then he wasn't either.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Flynn's a hairdresser, because…it was that or make him a kindergarten teacher. I'm kidding. Sort of.**

 **I've hinted it before, but I don't know if anyone got it, and if you didn't get it from what I wrote above, then I really need to relook my writing – Jack's an alien. Surprise! Not.**

 **To anyone not very familiar with European art history, 'romantic' era of music occurred somewhere in 1800s- earlier 1900s. Many of the so-called 'classical' pieces you've heard before in lift landings and your band teacher's playlist, especially the colourful, emotional and exciting ones, fall under this category. The composers mentioned here are just a fraction of the actual number.**

 **I know I always talk about how I don't use OCs and blah, but yes, it's not completely true. There will always be mentioned unnamed person in the background who are OCs (like policemen, waiters, Tooth's ex-husband, etc.) but I do try to down play their role – in fanfiction, the original cast should shine, not the OCs, in my opinion (yes, you're allowed to disagree). So…yeah. Oh, but Tooth's daughter might turn up, depending on the plot. I'm calling her Tharshini – but really, she's just a human, older version of Baby Tooth.**

 **Up Next: Confrontations definitely. We might go to a manga shop. And knock a car into someone. Maybe.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hello, folks! I'm glad to see that this story, while not fantastic, is still liked by some people, so, yay!**

 **I think at this point you'd see this is not really a typical superhero story. That isn't a boast really – more like an apology. I'm sure there are some people who want to see the good old-fashion 'let's beat up the bad guy and ride into the sunset' kind of story, or the type where the hero just goes around saving cats (I rather enjoy those myself. Really. I like regular 'stop a hold-up' kind of tales.) This isn't really going to be happy story. If anything, it's inspired more by 'The Watchmen', which itself began with a murder and delved into a lot of backstory. And if you've never read the graphic or seen the movie…well, just don't watch the boring movie. Both are equally miserable. The graphic novel is thought-provoking, but still miserable.**

 **So basically, I'm warning you that this may end up as a very, very dark story. I'll try to keep some light moments though.**

 **Bye.**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	7. Chpt 7: Every Breath You Take

**Warning: Mild Violence**

First rule of the job – always wear long sleeves.

Even though the presence of the Yakuza in the Blackhole was a given, people were highly uncomfortable interacting with the Nightmares themselves. So, as to avoid scaring away customers unnecessarily, Flynn kept his tattoos covered at the shop.

It wasn't his shop, of course. He was just one of the stylists there. He didn't really have anything of his own, not even the clothes on his back. His apartment was shared by three of his rowdy 'brothers', who were uncouth in every sense of the word, and the place itself was rented anyway.

The barber shop, which also catered to hair styling of every kind, was a cramped space, hidden behind the frosted glass doors that were probably as old as the street itself. There were only three chairs and three mirrors, which was fine, really, since business was usually a slow trickle. Because of that, only one worker was needed per shift and that happened to be Flynn for today.

"Have you seen the papers, boy?" the elder fellow called out, his face still buried in the papers. "Ten of the injured have passed away since that San Fransokyo bombing. That's forty casualties now." He clucked his tongue as he moved on the next page. "Shocking."

"Absolutely, Mr. Howard," the brunette murmured as he continued snipping the side hairs. Flynn didn't know the customer all that well, but he did know the old man had been coming to the same barbershop for the last ten years. He always took the same cut each time and by this time, Flynn was pretty sure he could cut it blindfolded.

"I hope they track him down soon," the man went on. "That 13 fellow is nothing but trouble."

"Certainly. Try not move, sir." Flynn's expression was blank, but inwardly he heaped curses on the old man. Mr. Howard himself was a man of considerably influence, being the owner of a few shopping malls around Burgeshima. Yes, Flynn envied anyone with wealth, but those he disliked the most were the haughty, self-entitled fools who lived in the illusion of their own righteousness. What right did this doddery old miser have to criticize a hero? A hero who made mistakes, true, but at least he was trying to make a difference.

Unlike many of the youngsters that our story speaks of, Flynn himself had been a witness to the Golden Age. He had been very young and was quite unaware of the complications and controversy that surrounded the masked characters, but he remembered the glowing news reports, the brilliant pictures, the action figures and most of all, the legends themselves. Their disappearance had been keenly felt by him, for the implementation of Anti-Hero Act had coincided too neatly with the loss of his parents. He was a child thrown into a world of turmoil, watching the cozy town that he had adored descend into a hellish gutter. He was a child in need of a hero himself.

He had been placed in a boy's home for a while, but the company had been rough and he found that streets had granted him more space to craft imaginary kingdoms. Alas, imagination could only fuel the mind and not the body. So he had turned to stealing for his daily bread. He had no master to teach him, so he had learnt it on his own. He started out with the basic pickpocketing, but moved on purse-snatching and burglary after acquiring a certain level of proficiency. The first time he had procured a gun from the home of his hundred and eighteenth victim, he had been awfully proud of himself - until he realized he had no idea how to use it. When he had attempted to mug a person, the girl had to tell him to remove the safety before even trying to pull the trigger. Of course, said girl's bodyguards then had come running in on the last minute and Flynn had been shot in the ribs, and the arm bearing the gun had been snapped backwards –

But that's another story.

Moving along with our current thread, Flynn had set the down scissors on the trolley, asking, "Do you mind if I turn up the music?"

"By all means, boy." His customer, whose hair had been significantly shortened, now moved on to the sports section, adjusting the round-glass spectacles on his nose as he did. "Don't quite care for the new-fangled noise they call music, though. The old stuff's the best."

"Quite right, sir," Flynn answered stiffly, as he went over to the sound system. His phone had been plugged in, so he simply jabbed the volume button, giving _Sinead O'Connor_ free reign over the stereo for the next 5.15 minutes. He takes the moment to also scroll through his message feed, glancing at the name printed on the text, then glancing at the old man, who was still hunched over in his chair.

"Just to check, Mr. Howard," he raised his voice to beat the volume, "is your first name Robert?"

"It is." The question did puzzle the customer, causing him to peer at the youth. "Why?"

"Oh, the boss just mentioned to give you a free cut today," was Flynn's nonchalant answer, placing the phone back near the stereo.

"Why, that's excellent!" The customer was pleased. Well, who didn't love free stuff? The minute the old man returned to reading his paper, however, a grim expression appeared on the barber's face.

The next few moments in the shop were quiet, save for the blaring hits of the eighties and the buzzing of the electric clipper. Mr. Howard would occasionally throw in a comment or two about something he was reading and Flynn would answer with a reply he didn't really mean.

It wasn't as if the latter was paying much attention actually. Flynn had always been very fond of escaping into his own fantasies, designing fantastic worlds where bleakness was banished and only the spirit of adventure reigned. Had he stayed longer in school, he might have ended up as a fine writer. As it was, he had only returned to high school when he was fifteen and left that same year when he couldn't fit in. I'm not implying that Flynn was illiterate – oh, no. He was a vivacious reader; adored the classic writers, in a matter of fact, especially any of those with good swashbuckling action and daring escapades. The problem was that he never acquired the discipline to complete any grand project of his own, including his own education. The world had pity for orphans, yes, but to orphans who left school by their own choice? Not really.

He wasn't a fool. School would have been very good for him, but how much of his fate would really have been altered if he did finish it? The minute he pointed a gun at the Nightmare King's daughter, his life only had two options: accept mercy and become a puppet, or accept death.

He was a young man longing for the adventure that this drab, sodden city couldn't provide. He couldn't die. Yet living itself came at a great cost.

"I think I'll need to do a little more trimming on the top, Mr. Howard," he told his customer as he set down clipper. It was _The Police's_ turn to boom their top hits, and _Sting_ took the floor with his deadpan enthusiasm, _"Every breath you take;-"_

The elder man grunted, removing his glasses and setting it on the counter in front him. His eyes remained fixed on the next bit of the paper.

 _"Every move you make;-"_

Flynn had to still his nerves, taking a deep breath as the thumping beats of the song rang in his ears. It was a good thing that Mr. Howard was half-deaf, if not he would have realized how ridiculously loud the music was.

 _"Every bond you break;-"_

He took up one of the other electrical shaver that they kept on the trolleys. As it was an old-fashioned shop, the equipment was also old-fashioned and much of the shavers were the corded kind that needed to be plugged in before use, as opposed to the battery-operated sort. Checking that the old man was still occupied, Flynn wove the wiring through his left fingers first, then through his right ones. He left a gap between both hands, allowing a length of loose wire to dangle in front of him.

 _"Every step you take;-"_

His hands were actually shaking. They said that once you've done it enough times, it got easier. You might even come to like it.

Not for him.

 _"I'll be watching you."_

He still realized that he was forcing a person over the ledge into the great unknown in the most unnatural fashion, and he recognized that he didn't have the right to do such. For all his flaws, Flynn was aware that Mr. Howard had only recently become a grandfather to a pair of twins, which made the sin all the greater.

 _"Every single day;-"_

At the same time, Flynn knew that he didn't actually have a choice in the matter.

"Do you mind looking up, sir?"

On the request, the old man did lift his head, staring straight into the mirror as he did. By that time, it was too late. The wire had already been looped over his head and was abruptly tightened. The newspaper was stashed on the ground, joining the hair shavings as the old man's fine boots stamped against the footrests. His wrinkled hands fumbled towards his neck, but in the tangle of the towels and wires, it came to no avail. Flynn merely held his fists close together, turning his head away from the sight to stare determinedly at the frosted glass door. The strength of an old fellow was no match for that of a young one, so the wire remained taut and firm.

 _"Every word you say;-"_

The contemplative rhythm and the moody bass continued to drown out the sounds of struggle, which lasted only fifteen seconds. Flynn still gripped tightly on the wire, yanking them together for a little while longer. Then, he let go. The limp body sitting in the barber chair didn't move, which confirmed his success before a facial examination and a pulse check did.

 _"Every game you play;-"_

He bundled the shaver and the wire together, using a spray and cloth to wipe off any finger prints. He then dropped it into his late customer's lap before proceeding to the glass door. Usually, he'd be more cautious and lock the door before taking action, but since that would have alerted the late Mr. Howard, he could only do so now. Turning to the key, he returned back to his seat, typing a message and sending it, before lowering the music volume. There was no need to burst his eardrums any longer.

 _"Every night you stay;-"_

He returned to the body, deliberately not looking at the face. He picked up the shaver and returned it to the trolley, then proceeded to unclip the towel from the bruised purple neck. With the brush, he dusted off the remaining bits of hair, carefully staying as impassive as he could. By the time he was done, it would have seemed that Mr. Howard had indeed finished his cut.

" _I'll be watching you."_

With that done, he placed aside the equipment. Seeing that his contacts have yet to arrive, he decided he might as well get something out of this ugly business. After slapping on some gloves, it wasn't difficult to find and remove his late customer's wallet, since the old man was obviously no longer in any shape or state to prevent him from doing so. Flynn flipped open the leather case, rummaging through the contents. There were a lot of credits cards, which provided possible but bothersome methods to extract cash. He instead took the two hundred dollars' worth of notes and pocketed them, before returning the wallet to where he found it.

 _"Oh can't you see-"_

There was a weird twisting in his gut, the feeling that always came about when he did something despicable – which was unsurprisingly frequent. He tried to stifle it, the way he always did, but it somehow manage to drag him down and seat him on an empty barber chair, next to that of the corpse.

 _"-you belong to me?"_

"It's really your own fault, sir," he told the body, despite knowing how ridiculous this all was. It didn't hurt to be sympathetic to something that couldn't wreck vengeance on you. "No one crosses the Nightmare Yakuza." Flynn gazed down at his own arms, hatefully remembering the curved black lines behind the sleeves. "Not even me."

 _"How my poor heart aches-"_

It was about fifteen minutes before he heard a knock on the backdoor. He answered it, and led his 'brothers' into the shop. He didn't actually know these Nightmares by name, but he did know their faces and that in turn was assurance enough that they wouldn't reveal his secret. In turn, he wouldn't reveal their involvement in it. As far as the public was concerned, Mr. Howard took his usual haircut before leaving the shop.

 _"-with every step you take."_

The body was hauled into the laundry van parked at the back alley, which was empty this time in the morning. Obligatory farewells were said and Flynn shut the backdoor, locking it up. If asked, he hadn't opened that door all this morning.

When he returned to the shop, he heard a repetitive tapping on the glass door. He sighed, removing his gloves and hollering, "Hold on!"

"Every move you make;-"

The tapping didn't stop, which made the already moody young man even more irritated. Swearing under his breath, he marched over to the entrance, undid the lock and swung the door open. "What?"

The boy who stood there was clearly no older than eighteen. One fist was still frozen in the air, since the object it was knocking on had been removed. He wore a green pull-over hoodie, which a little too large for his wiry structure, so it was too recognizable that he had borrowed it. Finally noticing how dumb he looked like while holding his arm in the air like that, the boy dropped it.

 _"Every vow you break;-"_

"You shouldn't say that you're open if you're actually closed, you know." He thumbed the sign hanging out on the front of the barbershop.

Flynn didn't miss a beat. "I needed to use the bathroom."

The boy in the hoodie considered the response, then shrugged. "O-kay." He cleared his throat, and straightened himself up, smiling. "So, er, Tooth told me to come."

 _"Every smile you fake;-"_

Flynn made a quizzical look. "Who?"

It was the kid's turn to appear annoyed. "Well, you know the lady who lives below you with the two kids. And me." The last bit was added as an afterthought.

He gazed critically at him. "You mean Thia?"

"Yeah," the boy made a dismissive wave. "Thia."

 _"Every claim you stake;-"_

Then it dawned on Flynn who he was. Squinting more closely at the boy, he noted the tuft of white hair hidden under the hoodie. "You're that kid I saw yesterday. The one with the bleach-head."

The boy looked offended. "Hey!"

"Get in, Snow White." Flynn jerked his head toward the interior of the shop, not waiting for the boy to work up a better comeback.

 _"I'll be watching you."_

* * *

"Then, you pick the type of picture you wan'na search for."

The brunette girl did as he had asked. Hiccup didn't actually know anything about her, not even her name. It just happened that they had been sitting side by side in hostel café, him waiting for Fishleg's call and her, well, talking to her pet chameleon. Of course, he didn't judge the whole 'talking-to-non-talking-organism' thing. He and Toothless were on speaking terms, after all. So, he discovered that she was struggling to use a photo-search application on her phone and having used many of them himself, recommended another app and showed her how to use it.

"Alright, now you have to take a picture of the thing," he told her just as his cellphone started ringing. "Give me a moment, won't you?"

"I think I got it. Thanks." The brunette girl in the pink jacket flashed him as a grateful smile, before rummaging her bag. Hiccup wondered to himself what it could be that she was searching for as he whipped out the device, hitting the green phone icon on the screen and sticking it to his ear. "Yep?"

The voice transmitted was hushed, as if trying to be mysterious, _"There's no time to explain, but you need to get online now."_

Hiccup rolled his eyes, placing a hand on his hip. "You don't need to be so dramatic, Fish. I can recognize your voice."

 _"Look, can't I just pretend that doing geek stuff is actually cool?"_ Now that it was back to the normal squeakiness, Hiccup could hear the irritation in the tone. _"Just get online."_

So Hiccup hung up on the call, hopping back to his table. Toothless had decided to occupy himself by fiddling the pens that his owner had scattered over the notebooks, rolling each under his black paws one at a time. The boy didn't have time to call him off, for he was far too absorbed in getting the matter at hand completed first. He whipped open the laptop, jabbing the space-bar to snap it out of 'sleep' mode. While waiting for the computer to load, he noted that the brunette girl had removed a sketchpad from her bag. Having some interest in art himself, he leaned closer for a peep.

She flipped through a few pages, stopping at one that was a portrait of a man. If he had seen the graphite stains on the sides, Hiccup would have assumed that it was a photograph, for the sketch was impressively realistic. He could almost see the depth in the creases of the man's eyes, and even the hair flying from the side of his face seemed to have been frozen in the moment, just for the girl to draft it out.

After exchanging whispered conversation with her reptilian friend, the brunette girl pulled out an eraser and a pencil. The nose of the man was rubbed off, replaced by another less pointed one. After some shading and dotting, she blew off the remnants of the dust. She set the picture flat down on the table, then poised her phone over it, adjusting her angle before taking the picture. He could only guess who that man was. Some teen heart-throb of a celebrity? Or maybe just a friend, or boyfriend, that she was looking for?

When the 'start' screen of laptop finally decided to greet him, Hiccup slapped on his wireless headphones, connecting them to the computer. After entering some diverted softwares and punching in some codes, he heard a familiar buzz in the headphones. _"Hello?"_

"I'm in," Hiccup said, fliting a glance at the brunette girl. She was absorbed in her own searches and was paying no mind to his actions.

 _"Noted. ID coming your way."_

A pop-up icon appeared on the screen and Hiccup clicked on it. The document that appeared rolled out a full electronic profile, with location history, medical history, family lines, school records and possessions. And by looking at the type of possessions alone (she was an heir to _companies_ – note that plural!), he knew that the Will-O-Wisp was filthy rich.

 _"This is the highest possible match I found and it's 97.4% accurate,"_ Fishleg spoke through the line. _"Actually, if you look at her history files, her motives make a lot of sense. Do you know how the Demon Bear was such a big thing in Dunbuoka? Well, what if I told you that-"_

"Fishlegs, I don't have a lot of time." Hiccup didn't mean to interrupt, but it was vital that they started work immediately. "What do I need to do?"

He could almost hear the boy's expression sour at the brusque response. _"If you look at the last page, you'll find the details of the hotel room she's staying at. If we're lucky, the files might be there. But if they're not, well, you know what you have to do."_

"Got it." Hiccup scrolled down to the final page, as instructed, quickly taking all the details to memory. He did know what needed to be done should the files not be there, but he didn't like it much. "What else?"

 _"You'll have a card waiting for you at the reception under the name 'Riku Kaneda',"_ the other boy went on. _"You can only use it on her hotel room from 1:30-1:40pm, otherwise alarms would go off. She shouldn't be there at the time though. She's got a lunch meeting from 12 to 2 pm."_

"And you know that, how?" He was really teasing though, but he couldn't help it. Fishlegs did get embarrassed whenever he brought it up.

 _"Erm, I hacked her phone?"_ He could completely imagine the chubby boy awkwardly tapping his index fingers against one another, as he often did in nervousness. _"And_ _before_ _you suggest it, I'm not a creep!"_ He did sound terribly indignant.

Hiccup chuckled. "I don't judge, Fish. See you if I make it out alive."

The connection was disabled at that very moment and Hiccup switched off the laptop, folding it back down again. He grabbed his back pack and stuffed the computer in, followed by his books and pencil case. He left the headphones dangling around his neck.

"C'mon, Toothless," he addressed the cat, nodding towards his bag. The cat mewled out his displeasure, before jumping reluctantly onto the books and boxes. Hiccup then zipped it up, but left a gap for Toothless to stick his head out. Swinging the backpack over his shoulder, he rose to his feet and headed for the doorway that led back to the dorm rooms.

"Bye." He waved to the brunette girl and she smiled in return. With that, he disappeared down the corridor.

With that boy gone, the brunette continued to plow through her findings, placing the phone down on the table so that her reptilian companion could see the screen as well.

You have to understand her struggle when it came to electronic devices. Mother had been very strict any interactions she had with the outside world, including online interactions. Computers were strictly used for education and correspondence purposes, and the correspondence part was only ever between herself and Rapunzel. As it was, our heroine with the pixie cut knew that social networks existed, but she had no clue how to use them; which was a pity, because many of the sites that the search engine had produced were all social networking sites.

Pascal made a chittering noise, using his tail to point at one or another option as a suggestion. Rapunzel pressed her lips together, before shutting her eyes and just jabbed a finger on the screen.

When she opened her eyes once again, she found that she hadn't actually tapped on anything at all, so she shut her eyes and did it again. This time it still didn't work, but Pascal decided to take matters in his paws and dragged one of her fingers over one of the options. The words lit up in blue and a new page was opened.

When Rapunzel dared to face her phone screen once again, she was greeted by a social media site with a deep blue templating. There were some options on the sides, called 'Announcements' and 'Notes' while the main column contained 'Feed'. But Rapunzel's eyes were focused on the blurry picture framed in the little white box. The young man with the pointed nose and a wide, smug grin was definitely one she recognized.

Pascal made a disgusted hiss.

Rapunzel took in whatever details the site profile provided her, scribbling down the important ones on a blank page on her drawing pad. She knew the information could be false, but it's all she could work with for now. Hopefully, the fellow would be far too arrogant to lie online. Mother did say that people put far too much of their private lives online nowadays.

Scrolling through the 'feed' column, she found other pictures of the thief. She tried to click on them for a zoom-in look, but each time she tried, the application would inform her that the picture was no longer available. Even the blurry one on the profile seemed to be unavailable. In her gut, she felt that it was strange. Surely someone that full of himself would go all out to publicize his delusions of awesomeness online, not deleting off photos of himself.

Maybe it was some kind of Yakuza rule. The policeman had mentioned that the thief was from the Nightmare Yakuza, after all. Yet, it seemed odd that a Yakuza would allow publish their own magazines – and give them out free too! She had one in her bag, after all - and then not permit their members to display their own photos online. It wasn't as if the social network page made a mention of the thief being from the Yakuza itself anyway. Perhaps she was overthinking it and that it was nothing more than a personal eccentricity.

Anyhow, though the page was like a desert of information, it did provide an address. It might not be accurate, since its last update had been five years ago, but she didn't have anything else to work with.

"Let's go, Pascal."

The chameleon crawled up her sleeve, returning to his surveillance from her shoulder. All her belongings were returned to her satchel and Rapunzel got to her feet. She grabbed the empty drink carton and food wrapping, throwing it into a bin near the exit. She might have heard one of the students in the café wolf-whistling at her, but she dismissed it to attend to more important matters.

Matters such as finding a certain 'Flynn Rider'.

* * *

"If you don't have a permit, you can't do any reporting here."

There it was again. That thrice-accursed word. Every shop, every restaurant, every bar, it somehow followed her like a stray puppy for a crust of bread.

"Look, you look like a well-meaning kid,-" the bartender was trying to be kind, but it didn't change the fact that he had no intention of helping her at all, "-and I can tell you haven't been in Burgeshima for a long time-"

"It's okay. I get it. I really do it." Anna threw up her hands in frustration. "If you want live your _silent misery_ forever, go ahead." She pushed herself off the table, fully intending to stomp off and slam door, but repented at the last moment. She gave a little bow to the bartender, saying, "Thanks for your time and sorry for wasting it."

Feeling both rotten about herself and frustrated about the circumstances, she darted to towards the glass door, pushed it open and disappeared down the street.

It was the same everywhere she went. Nobody wanted to talk to a reporter without a permit, especially one that had an unfamiliar accent. It was a good thing she didn't tell them she was just an intern too.

Her choice of interviewees weren't at random. She ploughed through the old Burgeshima newspapers, trying to locate the last sightings of 13. She spoke to various strangers and tracked down the people he had saved previously, but those people didn't want to talk. Not the sisters whose shop had been trashed during a brawl between 13 and some gangsters. Not this bartender, her last interviewee, who had three of his customers axed by 13 four months ago, during the lunch rush hour. She had learnt absolutely nothing new about him – _'N-U-T'! Nothing!_ The snippets of things she had heard were all things people had reported of before; his use of violence, his mysteriousness, his freaky costume. The fog of uncertainty that surrounded Burgeshima's vigilante had never been so thick and so irritating.

Kristoff had pretty much given up on the whole endeavor, demanding that they head back to Arenashi to report their failure, but she bargained with him to give her one more day. She had till midnight to get a story. And at this point, she was desperate to take any story.

It had been four hours she had started her story hunt and the dismissals were starting to make her dismal. It was _'permit this, permit that'_ everywhere. It seemed so ironic that city with one of the highest crime rates in the world was so adamant to abide by corporate laws.

She had been so busy fuming that she hadn't really been focusing on where she walked. That resulted in her ending up somewhere in the business district, caught in the crowds of bankers, brokers and managers as they all scuttled about from alley to boulevard. But she didn't really pay attention while bumping shoulders with the white-collar crowd, nor did she notice the glares that were shot in her direction. There was no way she was going to avoid the cab door that just suddenly appeared in front of her.

She crashed straight into it, reeling back almost immediately after impact. Her nose was smarting like crazy, so she held a hand over the soon-to-be bruise. It was probably her own fault for not noticing that she had been strolling rather close to the road, where the taxi had just drawn up to, but after so many rejections, Anna wasn't really in the mood for rationality. Or any manner of social decorum, really.

"Hey! Watch where you're-" she lifted her head and her eyes suddenly went huge.

Have you ever entered that weird state of mind you had suddenly gained a huge urge to consume giant marshmallows at vicarious rate even though you're not hungry?

Neither had Anna. Until now.

Except that she wouldn't eat marshmallows. Chocolates was more her thing.

"I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?"

She was in a daze, as if a hurricane had abruptly picked her up from Kansas and dumped her into a world of bright colors and catchy musical numbers. Her mouth might have fallen open in shock.

"Miss?" The voice sounded very concerned. "Are you hurt?"

Her focal lens decided to readjust themselves at that moment and the blur dissipated. Except that feasting her eyes on this masterpiece was probably going to send her in coma any second - with a smile.

"Sorry, what?" she croaked out, still feeling dizzy.

Was she blushing? She was blushing.

She wanted to die.

She was ruining everything.

She wanted to stamp on the ground and demand for it to swallow her up.

Right now would be good.

Ground, are you listening?

Like. Now.

"I asked if you were hurt."

His eyes were the color of the first leaves of spring. No! They were like the emeralds, fine-cut and sparkling. No! They were like – like – like barium-based fireworks!

Her brain might have short-circuited, because her analogies were getting a teensy weird…

"I-ya, no. No." Her neural signals manage to work sufficiently for her to give a chuckling shrug, though they also made her wince when she accidentally twitched her nose. "I'm okay."

She faintly registered him ducking his head back into the cab, probably to pay the cab driver, and she could only realize that because the wash of disappointment had swept over her after those wonderful, dreamy eyes left her vision. But once he stood back upright and shut the door, the pleasantly fluttery sensations somewhere in her stomach returned in full force, dumping out all the misery pie she swallowed this morning and replacing it for cookies and candy floss.

And chocolate. Like _waterfalls_ of chocolate.

"Are you sure?"

His voice was like music - no, no, not like hiphop or EDM. It was like – like a chorus of hallelujahs melded into a perfect combo of gentleness, simplicity and charm.

"Yeah. I just wasn't looking where I was going." She might be a little breathless at the moment – oh, that explained the fuzzy vision. Huh. "But I'm okay."

He was so, so handsome. Not like Hollywood handsome, or particularly sexy, but he just looked so wonderful and pleasant and…

One of her hands went to straightening out one of her braids, a wistful simper stretching on her countenance. "I'm great, actually."

Was he smiling back? He was smiling back. Someone get her a stretcher, because she might faint. She took back every insult she had ever said about girls who went raving mad about their pop idols, because she was starting to get what the whole debacle was about.

"Thank goodness." He was standing right in front of her, which was really fantastic, because she could study every single inch of his face – and it was gorgeous!

His expression of relief turned to one of surprise.

….she said her last thought out loud, didn't she?

"Um, yes." He was chuckling at her - _oh,_ but even that was _divine!_ "You did."

He had no idea how close she was to flinging herself on the road right then.

"Anyway,-" he opted to break the awkward staring session, "-I'd I like to formally apologize for hitting you while opening the cab door, Ms.-"

"Anna!" She couldn't wait to get it out. He needed to know her name! And her number! And every single one of her social media acc- okay, maybe later. She coughed, composing herself before she spoke again, "Anna Arendelle."

"Anna." The way he said her name made her insides melt. She didn't know when he had taken her hand, but he had, and he now planted a kiss lightly on the knuckle. Her heart was racing at the speed of light. "Hans Westergaard."

At any other time, Anna might have thought the name odd, for it was certainly old-fashioned. But for now, he could have told her that his name was 'Captain Butter Pecan Ice Cream' and she would have thought it splendid.

"Well, I would like to apologize formally for hitting you with a cab door," Hans said, letting her hand go, much to her disappointment. But the next sentence cheered her up almost immediately. "Let me make it up to you. Perhaps-" he glanced at his watch, "-could I get you drink or something? Coffee?"

 _YES! YES! YES!_ "Oh, I'd love-"she had jerked herself back, not wanting to seem too eager "-I mean, that'd be that nice."

"Great, um-" he flushed slightly himself, which made her feel better about her own display "-I can't meet you right now. I have work until four, but maybe-" he pulled out a card from his pocket, scrutinizing it himself before handing it to her "-you could call me later and we'll arrange something."

She folded the card in her hand gingerly, fearful that it might vanish into thin air if she wasn't careful enough. "Yeah. Okay. Absolutely."

"Great." That amazing smile was back. "I'll see you then."

He picked up his attaché, nodding at her before taking his leave. Even as he strolled down the path and mixed himself into the throng, Anna still stood frozen to the ground, barely able to believe the miracle that had just occurred. If that wasn't chemistry, then sodium chloride wasn't table salt - which it was, by the way.

She had the urge to skip down the street and burst into song, but thankfully, not all social propriety had been abandoned. Still, that didn't keep her steps from being so light, nor did it keep the love-struck beam creeping onto her face.

Love? Was she in love?

She peered down at the business card in her hand and the fluttery feels swarmed her once more, letting her burst out into a peal of giggles. People around her stared at her as if she was crazy, but maybe she was and guess what? She didn't care. She had a date with a drop-dead gorgeous lawyer! A date! And to imagine that she once thought that lawyers were all snotty old men.

We'll leave Anna in her stupor of ecstasy to join the haggard lawyer instead. After the brief yet delightful encounter with the university girl – probably first or second year, he surmised - he had received a distressing call upon entering the high-rise corporate building owned by Westergaard & Sons.

 _"-but he said that he left earlier on. Basically, we have no idea where my father is,"_ the worried voice rang through his phone as he crossed the entrance. As with most private corporate buildings, there were electronic gates situated outside the lift lobby area – a security feature to ensure that all visitors could be accounted for. However, as a worker there, Hans had the access card required for entering and he tapped it on the reader.

"Try calling again. He might have been busy with something else earlier," Hans suggested to the client while giving a wave to the security guard, who returned the greeting. He headed straight for the lifts. As it happened, a lift had arrived at that very moment and he stepped in, tapping the card needed to activate the higher floors – extra security for the office levels, so that the wandering visitor didn't accidentally stumble into where he shouldn't be. He hit the button for the twenty-third floor and the doors closed. The thrumming sound and the wobbling of the platform below his feet told him that lift had begun its ascent.

The responding tone was dubious. _"He's usually very prompt_ _at answering_ _the phone, but I'll try again. I guess…"_

"Do it soon," he said as the doors slid open, revealing the cozy waiting room. He hustled through that, passing the receptionist who informed him of something he didn't quite catch. He halted his steps, pulling the phone from his ear. Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he turned to the lady behind the desk, asking, "Sorry, what?"

"Someone dropped a package for you," the receptionist repeated. Her handbag was on her table and she was stuffing her belongings in it. It was then that he was reminded that it was lunch hour. Of course, he always ended up working in that time. "I'll put it on your table."

Bewilderment found itself twisted onto his face. "I'm not expecting any deliveries."

"Oh, he said you'll know what it is once you saw it." The receptionist did seem in a hurry to leave, so Hans didn't question her any further. He headed into the offices, where most of the cubicles had been emptied for the recess, save the straggling interns who chose to lunch by their tables. He slapped the phone back on his ear. "Hello?"

 _"Still here. What the new time for the hearing?"_

He checked his watch as he pushed open his office door. All lawyers had individual rooms, which he appreciated greatly, considering the racket that many of them loved to make. "Two-thirty exactly. If we miss this one, next chance will be in a months' time. I only managed the reschedule this time because the judge owes me a favor."

 _"I'll try to find him. Thank you, Mr. Westergaard."_

"Goodbye, Ms. Howard," he replied politely before the phone went dead. He dropped it on one end of the table before dumping the attaché on the other side. Mountains of case files sat in front of the desktop, thanks to his secretary's meddling. Some of the drawers were half-closed, far too full of tagged documents. His chair, which was in serious need of replacement, was starting to tilt dangerously back. Of course, Hans gave the mess little thought as his eyes settled on the crinkled yellow postal bag resting in the certain of the office.

Sitting himself down on his tattered rolling chair, he picked it up, his curiosity intensified when he noted that it seemed to contain a weighed object. He tore the seal, carefully pouring out the contents into his hand.

The first thing to come tumbling out was a pair of glasses. It wasn't his, and he knew that his secretary didn't wear any herself. He examined them more carefully, deciding by the style of the frame and the curvature of the lens that it was probably a reading glass. This item however was light, which meant that there was more in the bag.

He lifted up the bag again and tipped it to the side. He should have been more cautious, because the slight tilt of the bag now resulted in some black and grainy spilling onto the table - sand.

Black sand.

That alone was enough to trigger some alarm bells in his head.

He peered down into the bag and sure enough, the bottom quarter of it was packed full of black sand. There also appeared to be a sheet of rice paper tucked inside the black heap. Not quite trusting it be all that harmless, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket – he was old-fashioned enough to actually carry one around – and used that to remove the paper without coming in direct contact with it. He kept the paper at a distance, lifting himself from the seat just in case he needed to run out of the room.

Still using the handkerchief, he unfolded the sheet. On it was two words inked in the traditional kanji characters – "冥罰".

 _Meibatsu._ Divine punishment.

Hans knew that he might as well cancel the hearing. His client wasn't going to turn up any time soon. Or any time ever, actually.

* * *

As much as she derided luxury, Merida did appreciate the comfort of hotel beds. The fluffiness of the pillows and the cooling smoothness of sheets were truly welcome for her weary bones.

It was afternoon, but she immediately plopped herself face down onto the bed, letting out a huge exhale. She was an excellent athlete of remarkable stamina, but after that many presentations and that many meetings, she was tuckered out. According to her schedule, she still had to take tea with one board members and dinner with another, which meant two more sessions of awkward, shallow tittering about the weather with people three times her age. Who knew that sitting upright and nodding politely while suppressing yawns could be so exhausting?

She felt her phone vibrating through the mattress, so without looking up, she stretched a hand to her tiny purse. It didn't take her long to unzip it and pull out the maddening device, and it was only then she craned her neck up, squinting at the screen. It was just a message from her redheaded lawyer of a babysitter informing her that he couldn't attend the dinner tonight and promising to be with her at the luncheon tomorrow. That meant that she had to face all the old fuddies and their wives on her own, instead of dumping them on Hans while she snuck off elsewhere.

To be fair, he wasn't awful – actually, he was terribly nice. He was like the classic cut-out copy of a gentleman, except that he strove to be interesting and humorous, which she could give credit for. He liked sports too - real sports like rugby and boxing, not dumb things like golf - so that put him in her good books. The problem was that his presence was a constant reminder of her mother's expectations.

The clock on the side of her phone screen told her that she had at least an hour before her aides returned to press and powder her into a modern-age princess. She could use the time to take a nap, she supposed, but she had other work to do.

Merida pushed herself off the bed, groaning as she rolled back her shoulders and stretched her arms out. Sitting on a chair all morning had made her active muscles tense and her bones stiff. She gritted her teeth as she moved the sore limbs towards the wardrobe. Yanking the door open, her eyes fell on the heavy black box sitting within it. She didn't trust hotel safes most of the time, having broken into several herself as the Wisp, but she reckoned that if people didn't know what was inside, they wouldn't be inclined to rob it any more than they would other safes. This was a hotel full of all kinds of rich people, after all.

Using the keypad on the safe, she typed out the required code and the door popped open. She pulled it back, reaching in for the file she had kept there. Usually, she would drop any objects of importance at the summerhouse for safekeeping, but yesterday night, she had fully intended to begin reading the '13' file and hence had taken it back to her hotel room. Of course, the combined stresses of that morning and the excitement that night had led to her falling asleep after she had gotten the first page open. When she had woken up bleary-eyed, her aide had already been in the room and only by pure luck had she been to shove the file in the safe before anyone asked what it was.

And it was also by pure luck that the file had vanished during her absence.

She searched the safe, still simmering with disbelief, yet the yellow file was clearly gone. The weird part was that her platinum watch and silver earrings that she had left in the safe – obligatory gifts from her ex-'boyfriends' – were all still there.

Scraping along the bottom of the safe, her hopes were lifted when she felt something smooth. But when she removed the sheet of paper, the false relief was immediately transformed to wariness. And when she read it, the wariness turned into fury.

The words were all printed to avoid recognition in handwriting and the paper was undoubtedly handled with gloves to leave no fingerprints.

 _'BRING THE 'NIGHTMARE' FILE TO THE FOOTBALL STADIUM AT 9PM AND WE'LL TALK."_

At the bottom was the only thing that wasn't printed, but stamped in a dark red ink that fortunately didn't smell of blood. It appeared to some symbol of a reptile-like creature with wings. The same symbol she had seen painted on Knight's silver shield the night before.

It was then that she noticed something else in her safe - a small black device sitting innocuously in the centre of the box. She took that out too, and immediately it flew from her hands, clinging to the fabric of her clothes. After carefully pulling that off her blouse and staring at the letter once more, everything started to fall into place.

Mad was too mild a word for what she felt at that moment.

She could imagine a cocky grin behind his leather mask, an arm resting on his hip while he gave himself a pat on the back. Worse of all, didn't just have half the Intel on his side now. The big threat was the implied one.

Let's just say that all he needed to do was to post five words onto social media and he would have successfully destroyed her entire world.

She couldn't let this go. There was too much at stake. The Dunbroch have always been a mighty clan, but Merida was not blind as to assume that any amount of money or influence could dig her out of such a scandal. In a matter of fact, the company would probably be driven into the ground. Dozens of people would lose their jobs and the market might even crash. Moreover, the Wisp was as good as a criminal in the eyes of many powerful people in Dunbuoka. She was seventeen now, so they'd send her to juvenile hall first, but it'd be less than a year before they transfer her to prison. To be locked in there, like a common thief.

She didn't even want to think about what her mother would do.

It was a pity that she didn't have mind powers, because if she did, she would seek out that cocky little _slaightear_ and wipe his brain. Since killing currently wasn't an option, there was only one thing she could do. Aye, it'd be expensive, but these were desperate times.

Merida reached for the silver earrings in the safe, then grabbed the letter and the tracker. She took a deep breath and thought of her destination. She could feel her pendant burning against her neck before the world was washed into solid blue. Cool wind blew into her curls and the familiar tingling sensation along her skin could be felt.

Then, the bright light dissipated, letting her enter a dark smog. She coughed, trying to wave away the mist at the same time. Once it thinned out, she was able to note the circle of monoliths surrounding her, each piece like a looming sentinel over the sacred ground.

There was a time she had feared this place, but familiarity bred indifference, so she merely spoke aloud, "Alright. C'mon out. Show me my fate."

As if on cue, a bauble of blue light appeared before her, and then a whole line of them popped out of nowhere, forming a line into the murky forest. There were all manner of strange creatures that lurked in this place, but Merida knew that she merely needed to teleport away if she were in danger.

She followed the lights that she had named herself after, carefully crossing the fallen logs and weaving through the dank bushes. The forestry seemed to have thickened over time, with branches having twisted themselves together and the overgrowth flourishing without restraint. The sunlight barely touched the ground, giving the illusion of night fall and adding the sense of mysticism to the place.

She was only too glad to have finally arrived outside the little house hidden under the hill. She suspected that it had been here for centuries, for its brick wall had long been melded into the soil and its roof covered with wild grass. Only its little entrance remained uncovered, with a small pathway that led to it.

Crossing her fingers, Merida approached the door, pushing it open. The entrance was built for short people, so she had to duck her head down to fit through.

She was greeted by the smell of splintered wood, for every corner, every shelf and every table of the little cabin held a wooden craving of some kind: from the simple rattles and chew-toys to the elaborately decorated cabinets. What customers the owner had hoped to find so deep in the forest baffled Merida till today. But the isolation of the shop was not a hindrance for her. Rather, it was an advantage, for the old lady who ran the place hardly came in contact with anyone else. She knew nothing about the Wisp, nor Merida Dunbroch, nor the complications of the Anti-Hero Act, only of the strange redheaded lassie who dropped by her stall to buy arrows and the occasional spell.

Speaking of the old lady, she was currently occupied with sweeping the floor.

"Back so soon?" she commented in astonishment upon seeing who her customer was. "You said it'd be some time before you'd obtain the required items."

"I did," Merida admitted, clenching the letter and the tracker in one hand. She didn't fear that Knight could track her here – there was too much magic for digital devices in this area. "This is for someone else."

"Redheaded snippet!" That squawking voice was a familiar one too. Merida turned to gaze upon the dirty feathered crow perched on top of a bear statue. "Redheaded snippet looking for a tracking spell, ey?"

Her brows knitted themselves. "Hello, you filthy little bird. You grow uglier every day."

The crow continued his dance on the nose of the wooden bear, not registering the insult. "Redheaded snippet looking for the laddie with the number! Ay! Bad luck, I say! Bad luck!"

"Did you bring payment?" The elderly woman asked, letting her broom go. It continued to sweep on its own, a sight that had once surprised Merida but no longer did. "I did say it'd be very expensive. Your monthly deposit won't be able to cover it."

"I know." She held out the silver earrings in her other hand, but snatching them away before the Witch could take them. "I believe that should be enough for one spell and..." she examined the goods around the shop, but nothing really caught her eye "…another three hundred arrows I guess. Same draw weight as always. I can pick it another day."

"Are you sure you don't want a mahogany cheese bowl this time?" the Witch suggested, gesturing to the assorted dishes on one shelf. "Or perhaps a vanity box? I've many elegant ones."

Merida snorted. "What am I going to with something like that?"

The deal was made, with the crow picking up the earrings from her hand and dropping it into those of the carver. As usual, the Witch led her out of the cottage, shutting the door behind her as she did. The crow, as the intelligent creature he was, had hopped onto the Witch's shoulder so as not to be stuck in the woodcarving shop. After snapping of her fingers once and only once, the old lady waddled back toward the door and pushed it open. The carving shop was gone, replaced by a room entirely made of stone. The niches in the walls now held candles, pots and some books. Scattered about on the shelves were bottles and vials holding herbs and strange substances. In the center of the room stood a massive cauldron, glowing an unholy shade of green.

"Come, come, no time to waste." The Witch beckoned her customer back into the transformed cottage. Merida approached the cauldron with caution, still mesmerized by the smoke spilling out over its sides, as well as how the burbling liquid inside always seemed to change color.

The Witch went from shelf to corners to drawers, pulling out this weed or that tooth and dumping it into the boiling brew. The crow had made itself comfortable by sitting on the rim of the cauldron, cawing an occasional comment about fate, destiny and how Merida needed to watch her weight. If she didn't need the Witch's help so desperately, Merida would have wrung the creature's neck long ago.

"Do you have something that belongs to the person?" the Witch asked.

Merida showed her the black device. "He stuck this tracker on me while I was escaping."

The Witch made a shriek, shaking her head so fervently that the redhead took a jump back in shock

"Noooo! No! No! If he gave it to you willingly, then it's considered yours," she explained, wagging a finger at the redhead. "The object must belong to him."

"Borrowed or stolen!" The crow added in as he pecked at one of his wings. "Stolen is better."

"Oh." Merida wasn't too happy about this revelation. She didn't really have anything from Knight that wasn't given to her. Quickly, she unfolded the letter, displaying it before the witch. "Are you sure this one won't work?"

"The letter was given to you. There's no way that the ownership would be - _wait_!" The witch snatched the letter from her hand, her glassy eyes glossing over the words and focused on the dragon symbol at the bottom.

Merida peered in from the side. "What?"

The witch burst into a relieved chuckle. "Look here, lass," she said, pointing at the stamped symbol at the bottom. "That's a seal."

"It's actually a stamp," Merida corrected her, though considering how ancient the witch was, it mightn't have made a difference. She didn't have time to explain how the printing press came about, nor how modern ink stamps were made. "So?"

"A representative token like a seal would still belong to the one you're looking for, never mind where it's written. It's like a name, you see. It can be repeated by many others, but still belongs to its owner."

The witch tore the letter apart, handing back the top half to her. The other half was tossed into the cauldron, turning the brew dark purple. The witch grabbed the ladle of the shelf and began to stir the mixture, agitating the boiling liquid further. Merida took a step back to avoid the spillage.

"Danger!" The crow cried, as the cauldron's contents began to turn incandescent. "Danger!"

The Witch had slapped a metal mask on the bird, then did the same for herself. By this time, Merida knew better than to looking into the blinding light, so she shielded her own eyes. Once she heard a finalistic _'boom!'_ , she knew the task had been completed. She removed the fingers covering her face, just in time to witness the Witch lifting a small cake from the purple smog with a pair of tongs.

Merida pulled a face of disgust. She had tasted some of the magical pastry from the cauldron before and none of them had been very appetizing.

"Here you are," the witch said, as she dropped the cake into the girl's hands. The crusts were warm and cream piled on its top would have seemed quite appealing if Merida hadn't known better. "An eight of it has the effective of fifteen minutes."

Appropriate farewells were exchanged, with the Witch still trying to get her to take a wooden goblet, before Merida could finally leave the house in the hill. She resumed her trek into the woods, not fearing of losing her way when the smoke surrounded her.

Sure enough, she found herself surrounded by the circle of stones once more. With a hasty breath, she willed herself back to the hotel room and a blink later, she was there. The first thing she did was crush the tracker. The next thing she did was change out of the tight formal clothes into some comfortable jeans, a pull-over jacket and track shoes. She grabbed a huge backpack – the kind that her mother told her precisely not to bring – and swung it over her shoulders. After a moment of pondering, she decided to bundle her curls into a ponytail and slapped a cap over it. Hopefully that would make her less recognizable. Before leaving, she ensured that her door was locked from the inside, so that her aide wouldn't come barging in again.

The next place she teleported to was the summerhouse. It didn't take her long to retrieve the bow from the piano and the arrows in the closet. She considered bringing the cloak aong, but eventually decided against it. There was still some daylight, so the fear factor wouldn't be that great. Besides, Knight knew without a doubt who she was. For now, disguises weren't as important as efficiency. The bow and the quiver were buried in the backpack, and she vanished once again.

Her last destination was an empty alley in downtown Burgeshima. She knew its location after driving past it from the airport the day before and it was fortunate that it was deserted upon her arrival. The cake, which she had packed in her bag, was now taken out, and carefully she took a bite into it. At first, she was pleasantly surprised by the blueberry flavoring, only for the entire chunk to abruptly change to something that tasted like plastic. Nonetheless, she swallowed it, only letting herself gag after.

She felt a queasy feeling in her stomach as her body tried to recognize the weird substance that had entered it, and for a moment, she feared that she would throw up. But the nausea passed, and the magic started to kick in. Blue lights much like those in the forest began appearing in her vision, leading her out of the alley to a cocky young fellow who threatened her identity.

The same cocky young fellow who might just get thrown into the Pacific Ocean.

* * *

 **S/N:**

' _ **Every Breath You Take'**_ **by The Police. I could never get over how the lyrics fit 'The Police' so well. And if anyone is confused, their lead singer is Sting (a singer. He's somewhat of a legend, so if you don't know him, shame on you.) Though crammed in the first bit, it pretty much reflects how Merida and Hiccup are working against one another.**

 **Kanji characters are basically the written Japanese words in …characters. Like '** **冥罰'** **.** **The phonetical pronunciation of it is called romanji (literally 'roman letters'). Like 'Meibatsu'. Yep.**

 **I really do hate using OCs, as explained the last chapter, but this one was necessary. I was actually going to name the murdered victim after the Tangled director, Byron Howard, but repented and changed it 'Robert' Howard instead. The director's makes decent films, so he doesn't deserve death.**

 **Up Next: Someone extracts her revenge – sort of, someone finds unexpected help, someone acts like a kid and someone goes on a date. Someone might don their hero gear.**

 **This is assuming I don't change my mind half way – it happens. Just look at what I wrote in the 'Up Next' for the previous one and compare it to this chappie. Serious.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hi. I'm sick. Like, with a virus attacking my cells.**

 **And if you're wondering, I watched 'The Godfather'. An interesting movie, but not the type I'll watch again. Too depressing.**

 **Bye.**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	8. Chpt 8: Nostalgia, Nonsense &Cliffhanger

_"-This is Channel 5. We're bringing in the latest updates concerning the trial of Mr. Incredible by the train wreck survivors. With hostilities towards Supers steadily on the rise, the gathering of protestors outside the Metroville Courthouse has been increasing by the hour. We have Derek on the ground -"_

Back in the day when smartphones were unheard of, personal television sets were still somewhat of a novelty, especially those with color. The world had marveled at how pictures could move simultaneously as sounds emerged from the box, and even more so when the feed was done live on site. As it was, the hospital ward had a set on the cellarate, placed in the centre of the room and against the wall so that all patients could share. This however was actually a medical branch of the NSA, which, as a covert Ameripanian crime unit, had only a select number of members. On normal days, the patient count was usually low.

As of now, there was one patient, reclined against the fluffy duvets and listlessly observing the pixelated image morph into another. At first glance, you would think that the patient wasn't sick at all. There were no signs of bandages, or monitoring machines, or tubes anywhere. Even the diagnosis plate was empty. She was a healthy young woman of twenty-ought years, and if it wasn't for the deadened look in her eyes, you'd wonder why she was admitted here at all.

The white doors creaked open, but she didn't turn away from the screen immediately, thinking that it was a just nurse checking on her or a cleaner for the trash. It was only upon hearing him whisper 'Hey' that she looked up.

The wide smile that he gave revealed his teeth, as white as freshly fallen snow, while he ran an awkward hand through his messy white strands. She didn't greet him in return, only slowly rising off the bed, staring at him intently. Without warning, she leapt off the bed, sprinting towards him only to stumble when she was half-way across the ward.

"Whoa! Easy there." He was swift to act, catching her arms before she toppled over completely. With his help, she steadied her feet, slowly straightening her knees so that she could meet his eyes.

"Sorry," she told him, slightly embarrassed about the moment of weakness. "I guess I'm still not used to -" there was pain in the memory, so she hesitated " - my new centre of gravity."

"Don't you bother yourself about a silly thing like that." He laughed it off the way he always knew how, hooking his arm with hers. "C'mon, let's get you seated."

He allowed her to use his staff to hobble back to her own bed, walking by her side in friendly companionship, yet just close enough to provide assistance should she trip again. Once he made sure she was comfortable on the mattress once more, he took a seat on the opposite bed. She waited, half-hoping he would say what she wanted him to say.

But instead, she received the question everyone else had asked, "Are you alright?"

She disappointed, yet not surprised. Perhaps she was desired too much. "I'm fine, I guess."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm just-" there was a weird twisting in her gut as the lie fell out of her lips. She left the sentence broken, turning away so that he wouldn't note the hollowness in her expression.

But he was as persistent as he was kind - and yes, despite his standoffish manner, Jack was kind at heart. "North told me what happened." So he already knew then. "I can't pretend I understand it all, but it sounded bad."

"Well, it wasn't," she insisted, hugging her knees together. "I'm fine really. It's all just-" she curled herself up tighter "-just in my head."

"Do you want to talk about it?" There was no advice that he could possibly offer that would be of help, but the concern expressed was certainly appreciated.

"Not really," was the answer. Despite that, she found herself pouring out her fears to him, speaking of how Pitch had invaded the very centre of her power - the shimmering astral palace where memories had been collected, the most hallowed place of her mind.

"He destroyed so much of it, and whatever he didn't break, he stole with his black-sand constructs." Her fingers traced the metal foot board of the bed, as if the pointless action was truly an interesting task. "I fought back - alongside the fairies - but he commanded to his Nightmares to rip them apart. Not one survived."

He was aghast. His hands, shaking with anger, gripped the staff. His knuckles had turned pale as his brows were drawn together in a mixture of grief and anger. "I'm so, so sorry."

"He's grown stronger," she lamented, casting thing a sad glance towards the television, where the spiteful reporter delivered yet another damning piece on the court case. "The fear that people have towards the Guardians - to all Supers - has been feeding him like fuel to a forest fire. He used that to overpower me - to break through all the psionic defences I placed. Whatever part of my mind he could reach, he infected with his fear." She swallowed, involuntarily squeezing her eyelids tight as that haunting cackle echoed her mind. "I've been trying to repair the damage, but my psyche really, really weak." One of her hands clenched the white bedsheets. Internally, she struggled to decide if she would tell him. At the sight of his pleading blue eyes, she could not hold it back. "I-I can't fix it, Jack. Pitch won."

"No, he can't." The contradiction wasn't just purely out of obligation, but of true conviction. The gleam in his gaze, the hardening of his jaw - "He's the bad guy. We're the good guys. You'll get better. I promise."

Just as he freely offered his faith, Jack freely offered his promises. Bunnymund, ever the cynic, claimed that the boy was all talk and no action. He had no sense of responsibility and commitment, the Australian immigrant had grumbled, and these had been the reasons he had argued against Jack's membership into their Superhero team. Yet, in the time that she had worked with her alien charge, Tooth had come to see that his carelessness was scarcely meant in spite, but an unfortunate affliction he suffered from, one that could not be easily cured yet at the same time one that she had no wish of him losing.

When the time required it, he could still pull out all stops just to drive home the goal. But at the same time, she knew that his beliefs were, though well-meant, fundamentally naive. He was still new to their green and blue planet, to the complexity of human relationships and to the functions of the real world. Restoring her back to her full capabilities would near impossible, but Jack still believed that with a snap of the fingers, all ills could and would vanished.

However, that meant that Jack didn't understand it. He didn't understand that as a master of fear, the Boogeyman was more than capable of mental infiltration, even into mind of a powerful telepath like her. He also didn't understand that by damaging her own astral creations and stabbing through her psionic core, Pitch had handicapped her in almost every way possible in the mental realm. She had always drawn her abilities through the memories she had protected in the 'Tooth Palace'.

So by losing the memories of battle, she had lost her prowess in fighting with her golden swords - those glorious blades that had passed from her mother's mother to her mother and to her. By losing the memories of strength, she no longer was capable bearing weights beyond that of an average human. By losing memories of materialisation, she was no longer able to construct anything within the astral realms - be it the fairies that had once aided her, or the floating halls of the Tooth Palace. And by losing memories of flight, she lost her wings. And what was the Tooth Fairy if she couldn't fly?

She tried to explain this to him. She took the time to express the gravity of situation and the impossibility of the reversal. He nodded, but she wondered if he took it in at all, for his next words were only about how else they could seek out the Boogeyman and stop him the next time. As if there could be a next time.

"I don't think I'll be returning to field any time soon, Jack." The news was not easy to break, but it was necessary. "In a matter of fact, I might never return at all."

It wasn't as if he would suffer too badly without her on the team. North had already taken the boy under his wing, intent on teaching him every aspect of being a Guardian. Sandy would be good to him, for the kind-hearted Dream-maker had a soul of saint. Bunnymund might always throw a jab or too, but behind the muscles and grit, he had a soft spot for the alien kid. Her friendship with Jack could still exist in civilian identities, and any other roads that friendship could take.

She had been waiting for the three years. A few more wouldn't hurt.

But he couldn't view it with the 'optimism' she provided. "You shouldn't think like that," he told her firmly, moving over to her bed and setting himself right next to her. Taking her hands in his own, he squeezed them gently. "We'll fix it. We'll find Pitch and beat him."

"Weren't you listening, Jack?" Her chiding felt a little tired, but the hope radiating off him still contagious. "I can't even fly, Jack. How am I supposed to even be a hero?"

"I don't know, but you will again." His stance was steadfast, unbeaten and unrelenting. "Till then, as long as you need, I'll be your wings."

Timidly, uncertainly, she leaned forwards. "For sure?"

He wrapped his arms around her shaking form, his embrace a mixture of cold and warmth. "For sure."

* * *

Back in the present time, where smartphones do exist, along with WIFI, GPS and other small programs with surprisingly destructive applications, Kristoff was sitting alone in the six-man dormitory on his bed, uploading the pictures from his camera to his laptop. The process was a long boring one, so as the green bar on the screen tiptoed its way to the right end of the window, the blonde reporting student began watch how the sheet of tissue sticking out from the tissue box trembled under the swirling overhead fan.

The youth hostel had many young residents, of which all most ninety percent were students. Some of the Universities around here were pretty decent, so that accounted for some of the youthful population that hung out around here. From what he overheard from other tables and talking in the bathrooms, life in school here was pretty much like that of any other city - partying kids, last-minute studying and blasting the latest trash song released by another unknown artist. The violent crime that Burgeshima was so notorious for seemed non-existent.

Well, Kristoff believed that only until he had witnessed a group of tattooed students showing off their firearms to one another.

After that, he decided to stay in his dorm as much as possible, taking trips to the shared toilet only when absolutely necessary. Call him paranoid, but he intended to return back to Arenashi in one piece.

His crazy partner unfortunately never seemed to notice the danger lurking around her. She never woke up dead at night, shuddering at the sound of gun shots through the window, nor did she notice the unfriendly expressions of other residents. She was just so absorbed in finding a new story and winning that silly scholarship of hers. For him, he had pretty much had become resigned to discreetly taking photographs of various parts of the city, be it the people or the gutters they resided in. At least he'll have something to show when they returned back to the supervisors at the reporting firm.

His vigil on the piece of tissue paper was interrupting by a curious purr. Before Kristoff could react, a black clump of fur had leaped onto his bed. The Bombay cat approached him carefully, its emerald irises gleaming in expressionless curiosity. He was more of dog person really, but he didn't really dislike cats, so he made no move to shoo the little critter away.

With a politeness that he rarely displayed to another human being, he greeted it, "Hello."

The cat meowed in response.

"How has your day been?" Kristoff asked conversationally, leaning back on the pillow. With the spotty WIFI signal in his room, it was going to take forever for the upload to finish up, so he might as well have some company,

The cat stretched apart its jaw, displaying its fine array of teeth and letting out a yawn at the same day.

"Slow day for you too, huh?" he continued with a chuckle.

The cat just shut its mouth and blinked at him, swishing its tail as it did. Upon closer scrutiny, Kristoff realized that it had been amputated.

"Man, did that hurt?" It was meant as a personal thought bubble, but the cat seemed to understand it all the same. It let a furious hiss, rising to all four paws, muscles tensed and furs sticking up.

"Okay, okay." The blonde boy raised his hands in surrender. "Touchy subject. I get it. Don't need to get all riled up."

The cat backed down, relaxing itself but still sending one last threatening glare his way.

"Yeah, yeah, I know my place." He rolled his eyes. Most people would think themselves hilarious for talking to dumb creatures, but Kristoff did it so often with Sven that it was as much a routine as going to the bathroom and having meals. Thinking of his German Shephard (who was actually raised in Norway, then immigrated to Ameripan, so could actually be considered non-German in a sense), Kristoff let out a sigh. He missed his conversations to his pointed-eared furry best friend, to whom he could rant about human beings and their nasty habits, and occasionally they would sing duets, with him on the lute and Sven on an imaginary dog harmonica. Well, at least they were returning home tomorrow; the safe, sweet haven that was Arenashi.

Just as the cat and him got back on speaking terms, his phone, which had been lying purposelessly on his pillow for the last two hours, began to ring.

"Sorry, gim'me a sec?" he asked the feline. The cat didn't make a direct response, choosing at that moment to take interest in the tissue box sitting on the edge of his bed. Letting out a mutter about the fickle moods of cats, Kristoff picked up the phone and groaned the minute he read the caller ID. He hit the answer button.

 _"Hey! Kristoff!"_ Well, if it wasn't Miss Sunshine-Rainbow-Ponies. _"I just thought I'd tell you that I won't be joining you for dinner tonight."_

"You're not? Oh. Why?" He felt a strange jab of disappointment. He couldn't understand it really. He had to stay in her company for the last two dinners and none were particularly pleasant. Besides the part where she might have slapped two passers-by while gesticulating. And when she put salt in her coffee and sugar on her fries. And he might like her laugh – only occasionally. But don't tell her that.

 _"Weeeellllll,-"_ she did sound mighty please with herself, so any pleasant feelings were immediately transformed into annoyance, _"-I might have snagged a dinner with this guy I met_." He heard a giggle through the line and winced. Okay, maybe that giggle could get on his nerves.

"You're going on a date?" Of course he was incredulous. They were supposed to working here! Not frolicking about on …dinners! "What ever happened to getting a story?"

 _"Hey, the dinner's at six,"_ she retorted. He could almost hear her putting an arm on her hip. _"I still have a few hours before then."_

"Six?" He glanced at the clock on his laptop. "And how long exactly are you planning your dinner to be?"

" _J_ _ust an_ _hour and a half. Or maybe two if we get along. And just so you know, we do get along,"_ she added the last sentence with fire.

"You know that it'll be sundown at seven o'clock?"

 _"So?"_

"Hello? This is Burgeshima!" He almost shouted into the phone, but then realized that through these paper thin walls, one of those thug-like Burgeshiman kids might overhear and come to wreak some vengeance. In a lower tone, he hissed into the mouthpiece, "You don't walk around at night!"

 _"Oh, I'm sure Hans would walk me back to_ _the_ _hostel."_ The cheery tone was very off putting.

He was getting more cross as the conversation went on. "So you're just going to trust this _stranger_ – note, this _stranger_ that you've _just met_ \- to walk you back. At night. And there is no chance that he might, I don't know-" he waved his arms wildly, only to realize that she couldn't see it "-drug you and rape you?"

 _"Well, Hans isn't a stranger. And how dare you accuse him of such things!"_ My, wasn't she defensive? _"He's a gentleman, okay? He actually apologized for knocking into me with a-"_

"Do you even know his last name?" he interrupted swiftly, noting absently that the cat had begun to roll the tissue box towards the edge of the bed.

 _"It's Wrestlesquad."_

"What?"

 _"Wait-"_ he heard scratching through the earpiece as she rummaged through her bag _"- Westergaard. It's Westergaard."_

He deadpanned, "You had to check it up, didn't you?"

 _"Hey, it's a unique name,"_ she protested. _"And Bjorgman's worse."_

He quickly diverted them back on track. "Well, what's his favorite food?"

 _"…sandwiches?"_ Feeling a need to make up for her hesitation, she quickly added an explanation. _"Well, he suggested the sandwich bar for dinner. The one near the Shirogane station, you know?"_

He carried on, "Best friend's name?"

 _"Probably John."_

"Eye color?"

 _"Dreamy."_ That was followed by an equally dreamy sigh.

"Foot size…?"

 _"Foot size doesn't matter."_ She was gritting her teeth by now. _"Look, I just called as a courtesy, okay? Not for you to tell me how to run my life. You're not my dad."_

"No, but if I were, I wouldn't let you hang around with some guy you just met." He didn't know why he cared. Let her run amuck in the dark streets of Burgeshima! See where that'd get her!

'But she'll die,' a gruff voice that sounded oddly like Sven echoed in his head.

 _"Well, too bad. I'm going to anyway,"_ she snapped back, the venom in her tone eminent. _"Don't wait up."_

With that, the phone went dead.

Sighing, Kristoff cast the phone back on the mattress. He flopped himself down, letting out a heavy exhale while running a palm down his face. To the feline companion, he said, "She's an idiot."

The cat, who had just managed to shove the tissue box off the bed, mewed as a way of answering, before craning its head forward to admire its handiwork.

"It's like she's wears these invisible ear-plugs every time I talk to her," Kristoff grumbled on, not caring about the feline's indifference. "She doesn't ever listen to me."

The cat paused its absorbing task of basking in its own glory to lick its right front paw, then its left front paw.

"She just _pounces_ into places where angels fear to tread." He removed the hand from his face just in time to notice that the photo uploads were complete. Now, all he needed to do was churn out a small write-up on them and maybe it might get a tiny column on the press website. But his little chat with his partner had put him out of sorts and he felt a pressing need to go out of the walk. Maybe take some more photos. If anyone asked, he'll pretend to be a tourist.

He pulled himself off the covers, folding the laptop and unplugging from the charging unit. There weren't many wires to disconnect, since the upload had been through Bluetooth, so in barely any time at all, he had the laptop locked up in the cabinet next to his bed, right above his shoulder-mount camcorder. He didn't keep the compact camera, but pocketed it instead. The cat didn't remove itself from the bed, watching him in idle curiosity.

It was then that the door creaked open and Kristoff heard steps entering the dorm, marked with a horrified cry, "Toothless! Get off at once!"

Upon hearing the instruction, the cat reluctantly hopped of the bed, scrambling up to his master. The auburn-haired boy, who Kristoff knew to be sleeping two beds down, lowered himself to scoop up his furry mammal, murmuring scoldings. Facing Kristoff, he gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that. I think I forgot to lock the cage."

"It's fine. I was leaving anyway." The blonde boy was really okay with the animal, but his irritation with his foolhardy partner made him sound rather short. The boy, who was small in built in comparison to his heavyset dorm-mate, gulped, before retreating back to his side of the room.

Kristoff looped the camera bag over his shoulder and tucked the camera into it, strapping the cover down. He then headed towards the door, only halting before the auburn-boy's bed. The boy was trying to coax the Bombay cat back into the cage, but it just yowled in distress, breaking away from his hands and climbing onto his head instead. The boy huffed in defeat.

Without knowing why, Kristoff felt an enormous dread settling upon him. It wasn't the first time he had such weird washes of premonitions setting on him – he had plenty before taking the bus to Burgeshima. This particularly odd feeling seemed to be directed at the cat owner instead though, but Kristoff couldn't place why.

"Is something wrong?" The boy looked rather alarmed as he removed the cat from his head.

His mouth was on the verge of forming a 'No', but at the last moment, Kristoff changed his words. "You might want to keep that cat close to you."

The boy was perplexed, but he didn't ask questions. "Okay."

Leaving the dorm, Kristoff closed the door behind him, then took a left to the corridor. As he headed towards the stairway, he noticed a girl walking towards him. She appeared to be one of the many athletic students residing here, judging by the bow in her hand and the quiver on her back. She also had a cap drawn over her curly redhair, which had been clumsily tied into a ponytail.

He usually wasn't one to interfere, but he couldn't help asking, "Hey, isn't this a guy's-only-"

She made a rude gesture before zooming straight past him.

"-floor." Kristoff could only watch as she disappeared down the hallway. That weird feeling was back, but again, he couldn't justify it. So he caught the next lift down, wondering whether he was indeed going around the bend.

* * *

One of the most exquisite natural landscapes one could find along the West Coast was the jagged cliffs along Big Suroya. The town itself was small and idyllic, littered around the Santa Lucia Mountains and much of it near the cliffs themselves. Its famed cliffs sat on along the Pacific Coast Highway, with sandy shores at their feet and mighty rocks that made their faces. The Bixby Bridge, the largest of the thirty-three bridges that made up the Roosevelt Highway, was one of the more spectacular structures, built over a little valley and its creek in between two cliff faces with a lovely view of the ocean. It made a romantic drive, or even a delightful stroll if you had time. If you had it all to yourself, you could listen to the waves crashing on the shores two hundred and sixty feet below you and take the moment to contemplate the vast beauty we call the Earth.

There were two on the bridge right now who had this privilege of solitude, but they weren't exactly on vacation. More like one was on the edge of falling to his death, and the other was on the edge of losing her temper.

This was a familiar situation, wasn't it?

"I'm going to make this very easy for you to understand-"

"Hold up for a second." The boy, whose legs were dangling precariously in the air, still had the gall to snide his assailant. "Was the Irish accent fake all this time?"

"It's _Scottish_ , dunce, and you should really shut up," she growled in his ear, letting her grip on his collar slip an inch, catching him at the last moment.

He peered down at the valley before him, accessing the distance of a fall, then turned his eyes up to the redhead standing behind the rail. "You do realize I'm not exactly afraid of falling? I've jumped off taller buildings."

"Not without your precious dragon to catch you," she taunted him, her eyes blazing like fire. "So unless you keep a pair of wings under that grubby shirt of yours, it's the deep end for-"

She was cut off by a distinctive mew.

Out of the boy's collar, a furry black head appeared. A cat, who had hidden himself under his master's shirt just thirty seconds ago, had decided to find out for himself what all the fuss was about.

The boy, who seemed to be able to say the most inappropriate things at the worse of situations, began an introduction, "Well, Toothless, this is Merida Dunbroch. Merida, this is-"

The redhead let out a shriek at the unexpected sight and abruptly let loose her grasp on his collar. Hiccup and his feline companion began their dive towards the ground before he could finish.

"Well, that's just peachy, hey, bud?" he shouted over the air rushing past his face, turning towards the mammal tucked in shirt. Toothless let out a dismissive snort, seeming rather annoyed about having his fur ruffled up. Hiccup then pulled the cat out of his shirt, holding its face close to his own.

"Ready to sprout some wings?" he yelled at the critter, grinning. He could barely hear himself with his clothes flapping so hard.

The cat made a bored yawn.

Letting go off Toothless, Hiccup allowed himself to fall forward, leaving the black creature to continue his own floating descent in a much slower fashion. Hiccup turned his eyes to the ground, his arms locked to his side.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he made a quick prayer to the powers that'd be. "Please let my pronunciation be right."

Then he snapped his eyes open, staring straight at the looming ground and cried the words that the Gothi had forced him to repeat a hundred times till he could repeat it by heart, _"_ _Þá gaf sínum Sveini, sverðs minn faðir herðu."_

Out in the clear blue sky, a flicker of lightning appeared. It emerged from the heavens like living fire, crackling with glee as it swooped down to strike its targets. A burst of thunder boomed and in that split of a second, the bright sky darkened instantly. Grey smoke filled the valley at once, engulfing it in darkness, only to burn into a fiery white when the pale bolt hit the boy and his cat. The sole witness to this event found herself toppling backwards in the rush of the storm, gasping in awe as the scene before her boomed with splendor, forcing her to shield her eyes.

And in a blink, it was gone. The lightning. The smoke. The thunder. The view from the Bixby Bridge returned its postcard-perfect state.

The young archer rose unsteadily to her feet, rubbing her eyes as she wondered where the spectacle had been merely an illusion. Waking up from her daze, she quickly darted to the bridge railings, scanning the valley for any sign of life. Yet all that met her eyes were the plummeting slopes, colliding together at the feet of both cliffs. No boy, no cat.

Then she heard a whistling sound behind her, like the kind you would here as a bullet train rushes over a platform. It rumbled behind her and she could almost swear that the bridge was shaking.

Whipping herself hard and fast, she had an arrow slotted into the bow. Still, she wasn't quite prepared for what she saw.

Zooming straight down at her was a dragon with scales as dark as the night, and on its back sat a rider, donning a matching set of dark armor. The dragon parted its maw, and a crackle purple grew from the back of his throat, escalating into an incandescent white. The rider's own face was masked by his helmet, but Merida had little doubt that 'Fury' was applied just to the beast.

Her projectile was in the air just as the blast zoomed towards her. Without waiting to see if she had hit her mark, Merida vanished.

When she reappeared, she was standing fifty feet to the right of her original position, just in time to watch the railings get charred black and the pavement catch fire. Her next arrow was cocked towards Fury and his rider, but missed again when the duo dove under the bridge.

Merida cursed to herself, feeling for an arrow of a thinner fletching this time as she ran to the opposite end of the bridge. All her arrows were wood in make, but not all were the same in strength. Back when she was still hunting the Demon Bear, she had commissioned a specialized bundle of arrows – Salem's Teeth, she called them. They were carved from ancient trees of Salem, watered by the blood of innocents and grown on the corpses of witches – heavy in dark magic, basically. She only used five to defeat the Demon Bear, so the rest had been saved till necessary.

And considering that a cat had been transformed into a dragon in a stroke of lightning, it was necessary.

The crooked arrow was sitting on the string when the reptile and Knight reappeared. Her eyes scanned both steed and rider instantly, trusting the arrow to tell her where to shoot, the way it had told her to strike the Mordu in its eye.

And truly, she caught sight of the dragon's tail – two fins, identical in size and shape. Except one was black, like the dragon, while the other was bright red, flapping in the wind like a flag.

The arrow soared and struck true.

The dragon wailed, not in pain as much as in panic. The boy behind the helmet gave a yell of his own as the flying duo steered themselves back to the platform. Not giving them time to recover, Merida teleported again, this time reappearing behind the Knight, balancing herself in the saddle. Locking an arm around his neck, she willed herself and the boy away. Before he could cry out in shock, both of them were already hurtling down on gravel, rolling like barrels down the road. The now riderless Fury crashed into the rails bridge, ripping those metal bars apart like a child snapping a twig, grinding to a dusty halt.

Merida winced as she let go of her opponent, cupping the scratches along her own arm – consequences of fighting out of costume. She regretted nursing her wounds a few seconds later, when her head was knocked back by an armored glove. Blood exploded from her nostrils, dripping down her chin as she gasped, dizzy from impact. When she managed to turn her eyes up, she found that the emerald eyes glaring through the slits of the helmet weren't happy at all.

Before she could make a countermove, she noted him yanking out one of his gadgets from his belt, tossing it towards her. She heard a 'click' before feeling something bite into her wrist, cool and tight. Letting out a grunt of anger, she prepared to let the blue light engulf her and take her away. She'd return to the summerhouse, or the enchanted woods, cook up a better strategy. Or actually have a strategy.

"I'd rethink that if I were you." It was punctuated with a mechanical hiss and fizzle.

She was planning on ignoring him when she realized that he was right.

When Merida stared down at her right wrist, she discovered that it was encased in an greenish-black cuff, connected to a wire covered with the same material. She tugged at it, but it instead of coming loose, it bit harder into her flesh.

"It's a modified version of the eight-point acupressure cuffs. It gets tighter the more you move, FYI. And-" he thumbed pointedly behind him "-you might want to see what you're chained to."

Without really meaning too, Merida's eyes followed the wiring drawn across the road, and found that it ended by being looped around the railings of the famous bridge.

"Unless you want to teleport to your next destination with a seven hundred and fourteen feet bridge crashing everything under you, I suggest that you listen to what I have to say."

* * *

Haven't you ever wished that you had X-Ray vision?

And, no, not for that kind of thing. Do keep your filthy thoughts to yourself.

There are numerous ways that X-Ray vision could be helpful. Imagine call the cancer scans you could do without machines? Or checking whether the fridge has leftovers without needing get off your chair?

Or knowing if the people behind the door of a particular apartment were indeed the people you were looking for?

Despite having so-called photokinetic power, Rapunzel's ability spectrum was pretty limited. Mother had told her that the best light manipulators that Ameripan used to have often drew their power from light rays of various wavelengths. Unfortunately, due to the lack of practice during childhood years and Mother declining to teach her most of the time, RApunzelonly felt safest when using yellow light. Hence, the absolute lack of creativity when it came to the colors of her constructs, and the limits to her otherwise god-like powers.

It didn't help that she was so painfully shy about this.

It had taken her nearly half-an-hour to muster enough courage to break into the entrance. And even 'break-in' wasn't all that accurate, because she didn't break anything – all she needed to do was wave a hand over the key hole, construct the appropriately-sized photonics key and use it. Now after, climbing twenty steps up, she was standing in front of the apartment which matched the address scribbled on her sketchbook. She couldn't break into this one, because the chatter on the inside indicated that it was occupied. So she had to do this civilized, normal way.

By knocking.

And asking for permission.

And interacting with complete strangers.

She bit her lip.

She could feel Pascal nudging her hand from her coat pocket. He was trying to be encouraging, but all the wonderful, loyal chameleons in the world couldn't erase her inner doubt.

If she couldn't even handle the most simple of social situations, how was she supposed to go in there, haul out that thief and demand for him to return her his bike?

Then, she felt a buzzing from inside her sling bag. Glad for the momentary distraction, she searched it for the source, only to find something that made her stomach vibrating phone in her hand had the grinning picture of Mother, her dangerous grey eyes coercing her to pick it up. Her thumb hovered over the deadly green button.

Then she froze. What would Mother say of her behavior?

 _"Well, haven't I always told you? On your own, you'd never survive. Just look at you! Sloppy, underdressed, immature, clumsy? Darling, the list just goes on..."_

Never mind her superpowers. In Mother's eyes, she was weak. She could never make it on her own.

Well, Mother was wrong.

With the most bravado she had ever had since first starting out on her expedition, Rapunzel rapped her fist on the wood.

* * *

"And so, our awesome butt-kicking hero escapes the prison-"

Punctuated pause.

Throat clearing. "I said, escapes prison."

Still nothing.

Sighing, Jack leapt down from the couch, his feet barely making a thud as he landed. He navigated his way through the maze of furniture, carefully pushing aside the chairs that were to represent jail bars before stopping in front of the eleven year-old boy.

"You're supposed to be escaping jail now," he asked in a conspiratorial whisper, almost afraid that his words might tear the very fabric of reality. And indeed, the realities that imagination built were powerful enough to turn the stacks of books into a sprawling city, but it was still fragile enough to be undone by a single break in character.

Indeed, the 'heroic villain' himself was having a little trouble with his role. Holding out the wristwatch for his senior playmate to see, Jamie explained his dilemma, "I thought Minion's supposed to break Megamind out of jail. If not, how else does Megamind get back his transforming watch?"

Jack bit back his frustration – it wasn't that hard, since he always had a soft spot for kids. Leaning on one of the chairs, he tried to clarify the situation, "Look, buddy, there are four main characters in this bit of the story. You need to be Megamind, because he's the hero. I'm supposed to Titan, because he's the bad guy. Sophie-" he gestured to the little blonde child nibbling on Mr. Hops' right leg "-has to be Roxanne, so there's no one to left to Minion. We'll have to write him off."

"But Minion's really, really important in the final fight scene. We need to have him!" Jamie insisted, then drawing back when he realized how fiercely that sentence had come out. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, I know." Jack ruffled the little lad's head as he brooded over this little conundrum. Finally, he said sad finality., "We'll have to make Sophie Minion then. Roxanne shall have to be the make-believe one."

Jamie considered this for a moment, before shrugging. "Alright, I guess."

Jack scuttled over to the little blonde girl, hoisted her up and carried her across the room to join her brother behind the jail of chairs. The watch was temporarily placed in her hands, then removed after she tried to put it in her mouth.

Jamie and Jack looked at each at other. Finally, Jamie suggested, "Maybe let's just start with the battle part."

Jack agreed.

So more books were pulled off the shelves. Tooth had once been vivacious reader, so the objects of her appetite had become the pieces from which the skyscrapers of old Metro City built. The glass tea-table served as the central city fountain, and a ukulele, removed from its display rack, became the Metro Bridge. When they ran out of books, they stole utensils from the kitchen. The metal mixing bowl was transformed into an observatory, while chopsticks were used stuck in between books to form lamp posts. Jamie's stationary set provided the erasers and sharpeners, so these were placed along the paper roads as vehicles and transportation. Their make-believe world was populated by Sophie's plush toys down below, but those weren't so important. The real action happened above the city, on the top of its highest building - which happened to be the dining table.

Upon this 'skyscraper' stood the 'villain'. His hair, which we know to be white in color, had been dyed a humbler shade of brown. Tooth had insisted that he rid himself of his most prominent feature, so he had requested for it to be dyed ultramarine – so many guys in mangas did. The hairstylist was however in a foul mood and followed Tooth's instruction to the letter. So, as a result, a dull brunette was made of our bony boy instead.

Nonetheless, he took his disappointment in stride, for hair - blue, brown or white - Jack was the king of fun and he would throw himself into whatever role that was cast his way.

"METRO CITY! TODAY IS YOUR DOOM!" he boomed in a dramatic voice, which couldn't afford to be to too low or even really loud without damaging his throat. A bath towel had been tied around his neck like a cape and he used one hand to flap it behind him, imitating the movement of the wind. A paper cutout of the letter 'T' had been stuck to his shirt and a pair of sunglasses had been stuck on his forehead as a stand-in for a domino mask.

To the inanimate plush toys who couldn't care less about what he had to say, Jack continued his villain's monologue. "METRO MAN IS DEAD! MEGAMIND HAS ABANDONED YOU! THE CITY BELONGS TO TITAN!" He gave the city a harsh glare, snapping on the sunglasses as he began to zap everything with 'laser vision' – which really just consisted him leaping in front of pile of books, making 'pew-pew!' sounds before knocking them over. Sophie who herself wore a paper cut-out of cape (just in case a towel accidentally choked her, Jack had reasoned) enjoyed aiding him in this venture, gleefully using Mr. Hops as a bat to topple towers, until Jamie pulled her away and tried to explain to her that 'no, no, good guys don't do that'.

"AND NOW THAT I HAVE WRECKED UNNECESSARY AND PAINFUL VIOLENCE UPON THE LOCAL POPULACE-" Jack waved a 'cruel' hand to the spillage of pages and the massacre of household appliances "-I SHALL PROCEED TO SLAY ROXANNE RITCHIE-" he pointed to the empty space above the dining table "-WHO HAS DECIDED TO MAKE HERSELF INVISIBLE TODAY."

There was an unconvinced pause. And then a moment of hesitation, then – "I don't think this would work, Jack."

Jack spun around to face the 'hero' hiding behind the couch. "Well, why not?"

"Roxanne's really smart," Jamie considered with grave seriousness. "She always argues with the villain to stall for time. And Megamind needs time to travel from prison."

"Well, unless someone doubles for her, we can't have a Roxanne," the older boy pointed out, folding his arms. There was a challenging smirk stretched across his face.

Jamie shuddered in horror. "Urgh! I'm not playing a girl!"

"And I'm technically the villain, so I can't kidnap myself and try to kill myself." He took a moment to consider this again. "Okay, I could, actually, but I really shouldn't. That's just …weird. Well, then who's going to play Roxanne?"

A knock on the door interrupted the discussion.

The company, including the four year old toddler, went silent, partially due to the unexpected nature of the knocking and partially hoping that by keeping absolutely quiet, whoever it was would disappear and let them continue their fun.

But the rapping persisted, so after a quick battle of scissors-paper-stone between the lads, Jack served his punishment by approaching the door. Trying to straighten out the tuffs in his hair – which still felt dry and rough even after washing with conditioner - he proceeded to unlatch the door and gaze outside.

The teenage girl outside was petite in statue and size, though the brazen graphic shirt and the bright pink clothes tried to downplay these deficiencies with color. Her brown locks were cut in a sweet bob – no, they had some other name for it. Pixie cut? – that brought out the viridescence of her eyes, while the shaking of her arms revealed the nervousness behind her boldness. Her expression bore an odd blend of relief and disappointment.

Clearing her throat, the girl stuttered, "Is Fly– does Flynn – do you know if, um, -" Jack just nodded encouragingly along as she corrected herself each time, "-does Flynn Rider live here?"

"Er, no."

The girl drooped like a daisy after a beating by the wind. "Oh."

"He lives three floors up at-" he turned to the boy sitting behind the couch "-what's his apartment number again?"

"502," Jamie answered as he strapped the watch around his wrist. "But he's not in at the moment. All the guys go out on Fridays."

"What he said," said Jack cheerily to the girl. As an afterthought - "Though I've no idea who 'the guys' are."

"Oh, okay." The girl didn't appear as distressed as before, but it was clear that she was still taking it all in.

"A friend of his?" Jack asked. It was just curiosity, and he couldn't think of any reason why it'd be an impolite question.

The girl's answer was reluctant. "Well, actually, I'm just trying to find out more about him." Her eyes went wide as a smile burst on her lips – a rather pretty one, Jack thought to himself. "Perhaps you can help me with that."

"Whoa, slow down there. Me?" Jack shook his head. "I just met him yesterday. If you've got question, you should ask Tooth."

"Tooth?"

"She owns this house. I'm just a – friend." He tried not to wipe off the weird empty sensation he got when he said that word, putting on a welcoming grin. "Maybe you'd want to wait for her? She'll be back in half-an-hour."

"Well, I-I-" the girl clearly wanted to. Whatever she wanted to ask about Flynn certainly bothered her enough.

"You can wait inside if you want," he put in before she could cook up an excuse to refuse. Taking a glance outside and noting the setting sun, he added, "The corridors get cold in the dark."

"I'd hate to impose," she began, blushing in embarrassment.

"Oh, it won't be a problem." Jack dismissed her worries, casting a glance at the elder of his young charges.

"Well…" the boy wasn't too sure about this proposal. There had been all kinds of warnings against inviting strangers to your home.

But Jack didn't take these to heart, focusing on the more immediate of problems. Silently, he mouth to the other boy, _"Roxanne."_

"Oh." Realization dawned on Jamie. "Alright then."

"Great." Swinging the door wide, he ushered the jittery girl into the dishevelled living room, guiding her over the toys. "Now, while you're waiting, how do you feel about playing the damsel in distress?"

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Tooth's powers, back before she lost them, are actually pretty complex. They're kind of based on Psylocke's (Marvel), so she used to be able to create fairies, palaces, personal strength and her wings with her mind. That's not the limit. It'll hopefully become clearer as the story goes on. And for Pitch's own abilities too.**

' **Eight-point acupuncture cuffs' – if you know where this is referenced from, you might be able to guess something about Hiccup. If you don't know worries, you'll learn it – if the story ever reaches there.**

 **The phrase he utters for the transformation is Icelandic and ripped off the Nordic saga of Gisla the Outlaw. I found two translation of the same verse:**

" **(I greet the sword's honed edge that bites into my flesh) knowing that this courage was given me by my father."**

" **Father! Better heirloom never, Owned thy son than hardy heart."**

 **It's basically a reference to Hiccup supposedly inheriting his abilities from his ancestors and how he accepts its gift. So when he says it, he and Toothless get struck by lightning etc.**

 **Admitting, how I ripped the phrase out from the saga was haphazard and only because I didn't want to use GoogleTranslate to make up something. If you speak fluent Icelandic and would like to help me pick out a better phrase, PM me please.**

 **Big Sur, California (in this story, Big Suroya – Big Sur, America & Nagoya, Japan) really has a famous cliff-side view including the iconic Bixby Bridge, which I'd love to see someday. Of course, our duo has done some terrible property damage to this landmark…**

 **The story play-acted out by Jack, Jamie and Sophie is based on a scene in Megamind. I usually prefer not to admit it, but I actually enjoy this movie. Too much, actually.**

 **Up Next: Discussion(s), A Date, A Fight and Photography.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hey guys! Sorry for disappearing for a while. Have been busy with work attachments and stuff. As much as I'd love to post this regularly, life does take precedents. Eh.**

 **I would really love reviews. I know people find it annoy when writers ask for them, but I really do enjoy reading reviews – who doesn't?. So if you could spare the second, it'd make me ridiculously happy.**

 **Sometimes I wish I was less calculative…**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	9. Chpt 9: Blank

It had never really occurred to her before this day that she had never had a playmate as a child.

Truly, Rapunzel hadn't a companion till she had met Pascal. Of course, Mother was an ever-present figure, but even Mother disappeared from time to time. There were too many hours that she spent alone in the house, kicking the dust under her feet and wandering through the rooms. She did have things to entertain herself, like paints, music, books, experimenting with light constructs, but she had to admit that she missed out sorely on the joys of being in a group.

She wasn't new to the games of pretend – indeed, she had once been a skilled hostess at imaginary tea-parties with her plush teddies and horses. But a good make-believe was so much better when there were others to make-believe with you. Perhaps that's why she was so easily sucked into the play-acting when few girls her age would ever indulge in such childishness.

But it was fun - so awfully fun. Rapunzel could have never imagined that 'running' through piles of books and crockery, her hand locked in the grasp of a little boy, who named himself her hero and savior, could that exhilarating but it was. Their pursuer was the strange tall boy who actually looked older than her and he was marvelous at whatever he did. As the 'villain' of the tale, he would lock them in tight corners, waxing bad poetry while uttering supposedly fearsome threats. Of course, her little hero, who had dubbed himself 'Megamind', would cast paper balls at the 'criminal', who would clutch his abdomen dramatically and yell vengeance upon recovery. With a squeal, 'Megamind' would lead her to safety once again, before 'Titan' would catch up once again, cast an obstacle their way and the cycle repeated itself.

Occasionally, a plush citizen would be in danger, but 'Megamind', with his amazing dexterity and ability to redo whatever scene he did wrong, saved every single one of them. Often, Rapunzel herself would help, throwing a weapon towards her 'hero' and giving quick advice on how to use it. There was also this little blonde girl who would sometimes use her toy bunny to whack their 'villain' in the shins, but for most part, Rapunzel wasn't really sure who she was playing.

The battle finally drew to a close after the 'villain' had stolen her away and thrown her into a fountain, which was really the sofa. And he didn't throw her. Rather, he had just picked her up bridal style, much to her surprise, before carefully set her down on the cushions. However, whilst he was occupied with this, she noticed that the young brown-haired laddie known to her as 'Megamind' had darted to the fridge in the kitchen section of the room, opening the freezer and pulling out the secret weapon. The 'villain' had flown over – actually, he had gotten there so fast that Rapunzel almost believed that he had indeed flown – and cornered him there. Quick as he could be, the little hero threw the ice cubes at the 'villain'. With a howl of despair and a woeful disparagement of the 'hero', 'Titan' collapsed on the kitchen floor, defeated after the loss of his powers.

The ending was really quite simple really. 'Titan' was put in 'jail' behind a row of dining chairs. 'Megamind' received the key to the city of Metropolis, which was just the house keys since they had nothing else. 'Roxanne', the obvious romantic interest of the tale, granted the hero a reward kiss. The last detail was cheekily added by the gangly older boy who, though in captivity, still narrated the tale. She didn't really mind it that much, so she gave the young laddie a peck on the cheek, turning him from a triumphant hero into a blushing, stammering boy. The older boy treated the whole thing like it was the funniest thing in the world, cackling his head off, while the little girl, who despite not comprehending these events in the slightest, continued to flog him with the plush bunny till he stopped.

Once their adrenaline and cheer had died down with the closure of their adventure, they took their respite at the kitchen, where the younger children were forced by their eldest sibling – or was he perhaps a babysitter? – to drink up at least half a glass of water.

"Tooth would kill me if you guys got dehydrated," he told them when the younger lad declared himself sufficiently quenched from a sip. A brilliant white grin stretched across the elder boy's face, his stunning eyes gleaming with mischief. "C'mon, Jamie, are you saying that you can't finish that in one sitting?"

Then, for no reason other than the fun of it, it became a challenge of who could finish the most glasses of water. Sophie couldn't participate, being too short to fill her melamine glass from the tap, and Rapunzel had been blinking away in confusion when the boys had hit their third round. Downing the clear liquid the way rugged men would down shots of vodka, it was evident that the older boy was winning and that she had simply become the impromptu spectator to the sport.

The little game ended with a time-out by a coughing Jamie, having at one point sucked in the water too quickly such that some of it came out through his nose. A panicked clean-up and several 'are-you-okay' later, they concluded that they should play something else.

"Who's your favorite Super?" the elder boy asked her. It then occurred to her that she didn't know his name and he didn't know hers, but for some reason, he didn't seem to care. In a matter of fact, he didn't seem to care that he was a young man dressed in a towel 'cape', playing games that he had obviously outgrown, and he certainly wasn't embarrassed about it. He took to the games as seriously as his young companions – more seriously, actually. He breathed life into the stories they played, taking the simplest thing and turn it into something magical and mysterious. She wondered if he was an actor, or a teacher, or maybe a sprite from a distant world.

"Um,-" she snapped back to reality once she realized that he was waiting for an answer, "-Matahari?"

"Who's Matahari?" Jamie asked with a quizzical look.

"One of the Golden Age heroes, but not that famous," the elder boy told him dismissively. Back to her, he asked, "Got anyone else?"

She couldn't help but be offended by how quickly passed it over. "Wait. What's wrong with Matahari?"

"She's a girl and her villain's also a girl, so we don't have enough people for that," he answered smoothly. In a lower tone, he whispered to her when Jamie was distracted with helping Sophie wash her drinking cup, "I don't really want to expose him to 'The Sexiest Super Alive' at his age."

"Oh. Right." She turned red. She never really considered the T-rating part. Scrambling for one of the few names she had known from Internet-less childhood, she supplied uncertainly, "The Guardians?"

The elder boy glanced at her in surprise, but he didn't look upset. He began, "Well-"

"We can't do the Guardians."

Both of the older children turned to face the young brunette boy, who suddenly had become frightening serious. Laying the rinsed utensils on the drying rack, Jamie continued soberly, "We're not allowed to talk about them."

"Why not?" The elder boy was first to ask, his brows knitting themselves together. Rapunzel noted that he was rather bothered about this. "Did Tooth-"

"It's not Thia, Jack," the boy interjected, hesitant. "It's because-"

Then the house door swung open, followed by a breathless, incredulous – "What happened here?"

* * *

Jack actually flinched when he heard her say that. He'd never known Tooth to be harsh. Fierce? Yes. Angry? Several times with good reasons. But for most part, she was a gentle soul. She was always full of energy, high spirits and enthusiasm.

But he was relying on experiences that he had had twenty years ago, of course.

"We were just playing, Thia," Jamie spoke up first. He could feel the boy tensing up next to him.

Tooth gazed upon the living room in horror as she pressed the door shut, her mouth falling open slightly at the sight of her books scattered all over the floor, or her precious collectibles strewn over tables and chairs, or her cutlery everywhere except the kitchen.

Oh. That's what she's mad about.

Taking a step towards her, Jack said, "We didn't mean anything by it, Tooth. It's was just for fun-"

"Yes, Jack," the vehemence in her tone cut him off swiftly and abruptly, "because _fun_ is apparently all that there is in this world."

He wasn't used to this – the sharp words, the sharp look, the downturn of her lip that formed a hardened glare. He did note that she drew herself back for a second and pressed her lips together, as if knowing that her manner was uncalled for. She seemed about to apologize until something – someone, rather – caught her attention. Her violet eyes narrowed towards the brunette teen standing by his side. "Who's that?"

"Erm, Tooth, this is-" and then it occurred that he didn't actually know her name. Or anything about her.

"I'm Rapunzel," the brunette filled the blank. She had straightened herself up, unblinkingly returning Tooth's hard gaze with her own, though Jack did detect her hands trembling. "I'm just here to ask some questions about Flynn Rider. I believe you know him."

Tooth didn't answer at once, her eyes flitting to him. He then realized that she must be staring at the towel tied to his neck, so he hastily removed it, and the paper 'T' symbol stuck to the front his hoodie too, scrunching them into a ball and tucking it under his arm.

"Jack," she finally said to him. He glanced up. "I'll talk to you later. Just take the children to their room. Rapunzel,-" she turned to the girl – the stranger "-I don't suppose Jack offered you tea?"

"Um, no," he could see that Rapunzel was scrambling for some defense for him. Well, she was that nice. "But I don't usually drink it."

"Not even green tea? It's not as strong as the usual black tea most people give." Noticing that he hadn't moved, Tooth gave him a meaningful look.

He blinked, before scrambling to action. "Oh. Well, er, c'mon, guys."

Jamie was already on his way back to his room, so all Jack needed to do was scoop Sophie up and carry her along. The little blonde child was none too pleased with him for interrupting her during a hop-scotch session with Mr. Hops, but he'd rather risk the wrath of a toddler than Tooth's. Eventually, she did quiet down once he promised her that he would tell her the tale of Brer Rabbit and how he defeated the nasty Brer Fox and Brer Bear. Having ushered both children back into their rooms, he went back down the corridor, back to the kitchen. Rapunzel was already seated at the table, waiting nervously as Tooth set the kettle to boil. The latter seemed surprised at his reappearance.

"Oh, Jack, um," she hesitated, then, "I think it's better if I talked to her alone."

"Oh, right." He nodded, then quickly ducking his head down so that they wouldn't his face turn crimson. He spun on his heel, quickly shuffling down back down the corridor.

She might as well have said, _'Run along now. Grown-ups need to talk.'_ Because what kind of adult would play games with children? What grown man would stoop himself to dressing up as a 'villain' and indulge make-believe?

Maybe he should hope that Jamie had apologized to Flynn. Tooth would desire for them to have their old babysitter back.

When he hit the end of the hall, the choice came between going to the kids' bedroom or back to hiding in the toilet. As tempting as the latter seemed right now, he knocked on Jamie's door and pushed it open. Sophie had returned to her play corner, diligently stacking up some letter blocks while conversing animatedly with the tired-out, saliva-soaked plush bunny. Jamie was seated at his desk, quite reluctantly beginning his schoolwork. He had raised his head in time to see Jack peeking through the door.

"Mind if I hang out here?" Jack asked.

The boy beamed. "Of course!" Well, at least someone appreciated his presence.

As he shut the door, Jack made a low whistle as he noted the crumpled white uniform hanging behind it. The blue cloth belt was draped by its side. "I didn't know you took Judo."

"All of us have to. They say it's for self-defence," was the miffed answer. "I don't like it much though. The bigger boys always beat me."

Jack 'hmm-hmmed' to that, before taking a tour of the boy's room, the posters over the walls interlayered with scrawled pictures. Clay sculptures – were those ninjas? - sat near the nightlight, while origami shuriken were stuck on book shelves.

Between today and yesterday, he didn't really have time to explore much of the house actually. Tooth had kept him busy by with a list of ways to change his appearance – from him dyeing his hair, then getting himself new clothes, then even buying himself shoes of all things. She was scared that he'd be recognized - he understood that. It may have been years since Jack Frost had been seen in Burgeshima, but there remained the risk. Since her own identity would be threatened if he was caught, he respected her wishes. He knew that she was already going out of her way to accommodate him, so he didn't want to cause trouble. Of course, he supposed she didn't appreciate the way he had turned her living room into a playhouse. She probably had a bad day at work and he didn't help.

"Are you good at science, Jack?" Jamie broke through his thoughts. The boy was squinting hard at his workbook.

Jack shrugged. "Not brilliant, but I might be able to help."

He crossed over to the study table. Pencils sprawled the wooden surface and marked assignments took a pile on the left. Going over to Jamie's right, he read the question that the boy pointed to. As it turned out, the question was in his line of expertise.

"Oh, that's a common problem. When water freezes, it does contract - that's when it starts frosting up and everything. But after around thirty-nine degrees, it expands instead. Ice would actually take up a larger volume than it had when it was water. It's one its quirks."

"Really?" Jamie was amazed.

"Yep."

"That's so cool." He scribbled down the answer.

Jack nodded, a hint of smile creeping on his face. "Yeah, ice is cool." As an afterthought, he added, "Both ways."

Jamie chuckled at the little joke, before going quiet while he attempted the next question. Jack didn't mind the reprieve, for his attentions had been taken up by a curious book sitting on Jamie's bed, almost hidden by a blanket. He headed over there to pick it up. The title was made him grin.

Carrying it back to table, he remarked casually, "I thought you said you weren't allowed to talk about the Guardians, yet here in my hand I have-" he peered down at the cover "- _'The Complete Fan's Guide to The Guardians of Burgeshima.'_ "

"Erm-"Jamie squirmed, not sure how to defend himself.

Jack laughed, ruffling the lad's hair. "Relax. I won't tell anyone."

Jamie did relax and went on doing his work, but occasionally he would glance Jack's way and sometimes at the door. Jack on the other hand poured through the book of the self-proclaimed _'true, I-kid-you-not facts'_ about the glorious Superhero Team. He was snickering away at the Bunnymund pages, cackled some about St Nicholas, mentally corrected all the problems with the Sandman, blatantly ignored the pages dictating the 'Anti-Hero' act, and flipped idly through those describing the Tooth Fairy, though nothing about her terrible loss of powers. He wasn't in there, but he kind of expected it. Not many people knew about his involvement in the Guardians and there had never been a publicized induction ceremony after Ameripan's sentiments turned against Supers.

"Has Tooth ever talked to you about them?" Jack wondered as he reached the villain's gallery. There were some old timers put alongside their profiles - The Monkey King, The Dream Pirates, The Lermantoff Serpent and so forth. But it was beyond doubt that the Boogeyman took the centre stage -and ten whole full-color pages. The cheer which he had upon opening the book had dimmed considerably as he browsed through these chapters.

"She doesn't like to." Jamie's reply too was sober, so soft that it barely broke above the scratching of his pencil. "Anyway, she's not allowed either."

"'Not allowed'? Why isn't she 'allowed'?" Jack then realized a change in texture along the pages, and then he realized that they were cuts on them. Slashes on the paper, made from a pen-knife probably, decorated Pitch's grand robes. Miniscule bits of writing were scribbled around him, made small as if not to be read. After the nearly pristine clean pages in front, he didn't expected Jamie to the type to graffiti a book. That said, he couldn't help but be glad that most of the damage was on this villain only. If anyone deserved it, it would be Pitch.

He was about to close the book when he realized that there were few pages left at the back. And then he saw it.

A sketchy illustration, drawn by someone who had been given a description but had never seen the person himself. The figure sat on a snow-covered oak, carrying in his hand a long, straight staff, careless sprinkling snow over a pair of passerbys. Despite the inaccuracy in attire and the very obvious mistake with the staff, it wasn't hard to guess who that was meant to represent.

 _"Jack Frost,"_ the book narrated, _"is a figure of mystery. An alien who crashed landed on Earth, one of his first acts was to freeze the city of Burgeshima in the middle of summer-"_

So perhaps the book wasn't all that inaccurate. He was still pretty embarrassed about that incident – but he hadn't meant to do it. He had arrived on a foreign planet after being in hypersleep for who knows how many years, so sue him for panicking.

 _"Fortunately, the Guardians had managed to stop him before he did real damage. Since then, he has been known to cause mischief here and there, sending snowfall before its time or just nipping people at their noses."_

He felt slightly indignant. He was so over those days. And besides, he had been really, really bored while trying to learn English.

There was no further words about him – nothing about his attempts at heroics, or even about how he had aided the Guardians in several missions long before he got inducted. He slammed the book shut, feeling definitely peeved. Any kind feelings he had towards the book had pretty much dissolved. He was under the 'Villains' section, tucked in a small forgotten corner. Was that really what the world thought of him?

It then dawned upon him that Jamie hadn't answered his question earlier. "Why aren't you guys allowed to talk about the Guardians again?"

Jamie continued scribbling, not looking up. Throughout it all, Sophie had remained happily oblivious.

"Jamie?" Jack gave him a sidelong look. The boy had suddenly gone stiff and the pencil movements became erratic, as if he wasn't even looking at what he was writing. The elder boy was hastily tossed the book on the bed, moving towards the boy. The workbook pages were decorated with wet splotches and Jamie was valiantly wiping off the following the tears.

"Hey." Jack kneeled himself next to the boy. The little lad sniffed, wiping his nose with the back his arm. "Hey. What's wrong?"

The boy swallowed, another tear trickling down despite himself. Through a nasally inhale -"The Boogeyman won't let us."

Jack didn't understand. "What?"

"The Boogeyman doesn't like us talking about the Guardians," the boy told him between sniffles. Seeing that he was in the need of blowing his nose again, Jack grabbed the tissue box near the bedside, handing it to the boy. It was accepted with thanks, though Jamie didn't seem much more comforted. "He's a bad man.

"He is," Jack agreed, gently holding the boy by the shoulder.

"I'm not calling him _Kumicho,_ no matter what anyone says," Jamie blubbered, roughly wiped his eyes with the napkin, followed by his nose."Sophie doesn't remember, but I do. They tell me he saved me, but he's didn't. He's a killer. I don't care. I don't care-"

"It's alright. You don't need to." Jack let the boy hug him, let him drench his hoodie with his tears. From the corner of his vision, he noted that Sophie was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. On the bed, he noted that the book had flipped itself open, resting at the front page. In cursive writing, happy words were scribbled –

 _"To our darling Jamie on his 9th birthday._

 _Love, Mum & Dad._

* * *

It wasn't easy to negotiate, but eventually they settled on talking more tomorrow. The girl wouldn't accept money - no, she wanted her motorbike back. She mentioned a mother and her need to prove something. Phone numbers were exchanged and Tooth saw her to the door.

Sadly, it wasn't the first time it happened. Flynn was always stealing this or that,even from people within the Yakuza. She wished that she could write it off as him being a kleptomaniac or not knowing any better, but it wasn't true. He always stole with intent, whether to spite someone or to pay for something or because he wanted it. The thrill of theft wasn't as high as on his list of priorities as much as necessity was.

Yet why did he feel a need to steal a bike when he could afford one? And yes, he could afford one. The Yakuza gave him enough money for that.

And yes, it was well within her means to find out how much handouts the Nightmare Yakuza granted its members.

She shut the door with a sigh, before heading back to kitchen table. She gave a start when she realized that there was a figure hovering there, but relief sank in once she recognized who it was.

"Jack, you scared me," she chided, bending forward to take the tea cups, carrying them over to the sink.

"Sorry." She was troubled by how cold it sounded. Indeed, his lips were drawn tight together and the creases were drawn over his forehead. He was holding his staff between two clenched fists, though she had told him to hide the weapon at the back of her closet.

"Look, Jack," she looped back a strand of hair behind ear, turning to face him, "I'm sorry about earlier. I was, well, frustrated with work and you did make a mess of the- "

"I know how Jamie and Sophie's parents died."

And with that her, the trail of words died on her lips. She gazed at him, flabbergasted.

Slowly, wanting her to catch every syllable, he said, "And I know who's paying you to look after them."

It was like a slap. She could almost feel her face smarting. "You don't have to put it that way."

"But it's true, it isn't?" He sounded bitter. "And I thought you did out of compassion."

"I did," she protested. "I wanted to have a real home of their own. I didn't want them to grow up angry and resentful like Flynn-"

"So Flynn's in this too. I should have guessed. All of you are." He glared angrily at the mess in the living room, perhaps only prevent himself for glaring at her. "Anyone else I should know about?"

"You don't need to make it sound like we've got the plague."

"And you?" His voice was barely above a hiss, not looking her way still. "Are you one of them too?"

"It's not that simple-"

"It is actually." His bright blue eyes, so often filled with glee and mischief, were as hard as agates. They burned at her now. "You either are or aren't."

The clinking of the ceramic against the steel plating of the sink was the calmest sound that fell between them. She kept her eyes fixed determinedly down at the dishes, taking them up one by one and scrubbing them hard with the soap. She knew that his gaze never wavered. She could feel it.

Eventually, she did answer. "I don't have any tattoos, so I'm not official member."

"But?" he supplied warily.

"But you're right." She made herself sound detached, even slightly bored. There was no point being defensive about it. "I suppose I'm too closely associated with them to pretend otherwise. I've even attended some of their more ... 'private' events before."

Tooth only dared just one glance – just one – and she was right to do so. The betrayal etched his countenance was almost enough to break her heart. "Why? Tooth, he's the one who hurt you."

"He's also the person who gave me back my clinic," she countered. The irony did strike her, but it was no less true. "I tried not to get involved with his Yakuza, Jack, I did. But some time after the divorce, my clinic got attacked - a chemical bomb throw through the door. Those responsible were never caught I didn't have the money to fix the damages and there was no way I ask my ex for help." She bit her lip. "Pitch paid for it. Every cent of it. All he asked in return was for friendship."

" _Friendship_ ," he repeated scornfully. "Has it occurred to you that it's probably his gang that bombed it in the first place?"

She had to admit, "Yes."

"And you're still going along with it?"

She was gripping the cups so hard that they almost slipped from her wet fingers. "Do I have any choice?"

"Yes!" He was always so earnest, so eager, so _naïve_. "There's always a choice. You could use your powers and -"

"And what, Jack?" she demanded. "Rob a bank and wipe their memories of the deed? Would that be better? I need to earn a living, Jack. Besides, I haven't used my powers for years."

"But you still have them," he argued.

"Just barely. Not enough to send Pitch running from Burgeshima, if that's what you mean." She stacked the cups on the drying rack, drying her hands more roughly than required. "And the minute I try, he'll know. He'll recognize me." Fluttering bits of memories came rushing back to her - dark memories full of screams and shudders. "I can hide my fears from him, but only superficially. If anything prompts him to dig deeper into my mind, he'll find out. He'll know, Jack, and he can't know. He still hates the Guardians. He'll destroy us all out if he had the chance, and I have a daughter to think of." Her eyes were pleading.

Jack hesitated, twirling the staff in his hand.

"You don't remember having a family, so I get if you don't understand-"

"I do understand," he interjected with quiet indignation. He stopped fidgeting with the staff. "I just-" he let out an agitated exhale "-I still don't think it's right."

"And I won't try to change your mind." She felt like there was something dying inside of her – a flame of a long lost hope. A hope that something more could ever happen between a strange girl in a foreign land and an alien boy that could never grow up.

"I need to time to think. I need to go." She had guessed as much after having taken a good look at his clothes. He was back to the dowdy rags of trousers and the outdated hoodie. The only thing he had not changed back was the brown hair, but it would not take much for him to revert to pristine white.

"I won't stop you."

So he made his way across the living room, straight to the window. As he undid the latch holding the glass panes shut, she couldn't help saying, "If you're going to disappear for another ten years, then you should at least have the decency to say goodbye. You didn't the last time." Despite herself, her eyes were feeling moist. "I did miss you."

"I missed you too," he answered quietly as pulled the hood over his head. "I think I still do. Goodbye, Tooth."

He had vanished with the wind before she could say anything else.

* * *

"Well, what do you think, Ms. Dunbroch?"

In her head, she was going over her head how the battle could have gone differently. Instead of teleporting him off the dragon, she should have let him crash with it. Maybe he'd get injured, but why should she care? He certainly didn't mind giving her a bloody nose, but he had explained later that he never had taken attacks on his dragon very well. Maybe she should have shot him instead – not a fatal place, of course, in the arm or the leg. He had magical powers that turn his cat into a dragon and himself into an armed warrior, so why not magical healing powers?

In body, however, Merida was standing on a pair of four-inch high T-straps, a tight floor-length gown and had her face smeared with at least five different cosmetics. When she had returned to her hotel room with a black bruise across her nose, her P.A. almost fainted at the sight. She had shrugged it off as a fist fight, which was not all that different from what she had said back in school. It took great skill (from the P.A., not her) and lots of powder till the blemish was covered up. For now, her carefully and painfully manicured hand held a champagne glass filled with sparkling soda and her sore feet held her prisoner as she stood in the company of gentlemen and ladies pressed and dressed like her. One gentleman, some investor in the Dunbroch Bank & Trust Company whose name she couldn't remember, had asked her a question. The problem was that she had no idea what the group had been talking about previously

All the eyes were fixed on her, polite smiles fixed on painted lips. She fumbled for a suitable reply that wouldn't reveal her negligence. "Um, I don't really have an opinion on that."

The gentleman harrumphed disapprovingly, making her cringe – she hoped more inwardly than outwardly. "Well, you should if you're going to run such a big company someday."

"Now, Byron, she's just seventeen," his wife in the flowery dress and way too many pearls excused her. "She has better things to do than worry about company matters at this age. Merida, isn't it?" The lady's expression became frighteningly predatory. "Have you got a boyfriend yet?"

"Erm." She was subconsciously taking a step back. "No?"

She regretted her answer immediately after that when all three ladies in company began to suggesting all kinds of eligible young men she could 'take walks with'. She wondered if the waiters in this fine ballroom served paper bags, because she might need to throw up.

Eventually, the redheaded girl managed to escape the bothersome older ladies, who obviously should stop finding amusement in micro-managing the lives of others and indulge in healthier things like watching soap operas. During an attempts to sprint over to the buffet table, she almost fell over, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from cursing aloud. She could feel that there were eyes watching all over her room, waiting for the heir to one of the largest financial chains in West Ameripan to fall on her face. Forcing herself to take slow controlled breaths, she crossed the carpeted floor, hoping that she would make it to the serving table and have her face stuffed before anyone tried talking to her.

When she was about twenty wobbly steps across the glittering gold hall, she felt a mild vibration emitting from the tiny purse – beg your pardon, minuscule handbag - under her arm. Pulling it out, she unzipped it and retrieved her phone. The number on it was a private one, so she supposed that it might be Hans, perhaps to apologize for ditching her in this agony of a so-called party. She hit the answer and placed the device to her ear. "Hello?"

 _"Hi. Try not to panic, or say anything suspicious, but I thought it'd be fair if I updated you on what I found."_ The nasal tinge in the voice gave everything away.

She could barely keep a straight face, and she definitely didn't hold back on the low growl. "How much about me do you know, really?"

 _"Hey! What happened to not saying anything suspicious? You're in public place right now. People are watching."_

"And how did you know where I am?" she hissed through clenched teeth. Let people look – she'd just tell them she was scolding her P.A.. All of them loved complaining so much about their own assistants, so they would sympathize.

 _"Let's just say I'm a really resourceful guy, okay?"_ She could hear the irritation building in Knight's tone. _"Since we're working together now, I thought you should get to know what's happening even if you're not investigating."_

She sneered inwardly. This whole 'working together' was his idea, and because she had been handcuffed to a bridge, she gave in. He didn't really bring up the whole identity threat thing anymore, but it still loomed over her like an anvil on a thread. He had tried to even the playing field by introducing himself, giving his real name – which was really weird name - but as far as she could tell, he wasn't anyone that remarkable. He didn't have as much to lose as she did and she wondered if he was aware of that. She also didn't like him working with the files without her, but his night was much freer than hers, so in the name of efficiency, she had totter around with rich old fuddies while he hunted for clues.

 _"Anyway, I've checked several of the places where 13 had hit in the last three months,"_ Knight continued – and she still thought of him as Knight. _"They hadn't seemed connected at first, but then I dug up some stuff and I found out that they're all owned by the same people. That is, the members of Nightmare Yakuza."_

"Big surprise there." Merida was unimpressed.

 _"The strange thing is that his attacks were all quite close to each other – about three to four days apart,"_ went Knight's dry narration. _"However, about two weeks before the San Fransokyo, all themjust let up. It was a dry period, except for a random attack on a pharmaceutical plant on the last week. It was Yakuza-owned, but he didn't kill anyone or destroy anything. He actually just seemed stole an assortment of medical supplies."_

"Maybe he was sick." Merida had managed to move herself off to one of pillars of the ballroom, leaning against it to support her weight and giving her an aching feet some rest.

 _"The place's records say that he stole about a three-weeks worth of medical supplies for a hospital. I'm actually considering that he might have been preparing a catastrophe."_ She heard some low grunting in the background, followed by loud animalistic snort – the beast, undoubtedly. _"Well, I'll let you know if I've found anything else."_

"You better." She supposed to she could have thanked him. After all, it was a break from the awful monotony of everything else. But after coercing her into working with him, that's all he was getting out from her.

Just as she had replaced the phone in the miniature handbag, she heard her name being called. Her eyes darted about in alarm.

"Ms. Dunbroch?" She finally placed to the voice. It belonged to a young man in a simple tux and tie. He had a pair of glasses rested on his thin nose, and peering through them were curious eyes, intently assessing her. "You are Ms. Merida Dunbroch?"

She straightened her back, facing him, putting on her polite voice. "Yes, yes, I am." A fake, plastic, artificial Merida Dunbroch that nodded dumbly in conversations about brands of pillow cases and whether gluten-free products were more or less slimming.

"Are you finished with that call? We can wait until you're done," he told her, a surprisingly pleasant smile greeting her.

"Oh, no," she made the little shrill giggle that she had too practice in front of the mirror, "I do have a minute." It only hit her later that he had said 'we'.

"Excellent. He's been dying to meet you." He then gestured to a gentleman just a little way behind, a pale fellow dressed too in an elegant tux that somehow seemed a thousand times more splendid than that of his spokesperson. For some reason, setting her eyes on this thin, bony fellow with hair as dark as night and eyes as bright as fireflies sent chills down her spine. "Ms. Dunbroch, this is Mr. Kumori Nakahara."

"Oh?" Yep, she had no idea who that was, so she just held out a hand. "How do you do?"

The pale man merely gazed down proffered hand, seemingly confused.

"Mr. Nakahara only speaks Japanese. I'm translating for him," the younger man quickly explained. "By nature, he's also a rather traditional man."

"Oh, I see." She quickly took her hand back while rummaging through her head for all the traditional Japanese bows she had practiced before. It was definitely a deep bow, because Mr. Nakahara was her senior, but she just couldn't remember where she was supposed to her arms. Was it by her sides or behind her back?

As if reading her thoughts, the young interpreter whispered subtly to her, "You should fold them in front."

Her hands were supposed to be folded together in front over her stomach. Of course!

She did just that and bowed, and was relieved to find that Mr. Nakahara was pleased enough to return a smaller bow of his own. He said something to his interpreter, who promptly translated it, "He hopes that you have enjoyed your time in Burgeshima so far."

She had been chasing down a mysterious vigilante who didn't want to be found. She had her identity uncovered by a rival teen Super. And most of all, her bloody shoes were killing her! "Yes, I have."

The politically corrected answer was translated back immediately. The businessman, or maybe investor (Merida wasn't too sure of the difference), then murmured something else to his interpreter, who then said, "He wonders if your stay at his hotel as proved satisfactory?"

"Huh?" It was an automatic response, one that her mother would berate her endlessly about. One had to always seem interested in the other party, and ignorance was a very bad way to demonstrate that.

"Didn't you know?" The younger man appeared astonished. "Mr. Nakahara owns the Hotel Kurokuro."

"Why, yes, of course." She felt her cheeks flushing. She could have sworn that the shadow-skinned Mr. Nakahara was smirking at her. Well, he was no nice guy, that's what. This was why she needed her glorified babysitter back. Hans would know all these people and how to deal with them. "Well, my stay there has been excellent so far." She winced after the words left her mouth. She shouldn't have added the glaring 'so far'. It implied that she expected something to go wrong. Before she could edit it out, the interpreter had already passed it on in Japanese.

"Is it true that you would be taking over Dunbroch Bank & Trust Company in the near future?" he then asked after his boss said the same to him in Japanese.

She wished it wasn't so, but who else would her mother trust it to? "It has yet to be confirmed, but it's quite likely to be so."

"That's excellent news indeed," the interpreter told her after conveying the message to his employer. "Mr. Nakahara says that you do seem like a very talented young woman and he has no doubt that you would follow closely in your father's footsteps." The pale man added something, which was swiftly translated, "He looks forward to working more closely with you in the future."

"Certainly," she answered, feel anything but certain. There was something horribly unsettling about the businessman's mannerism towards her.

Bows were exchanged, firm one from Mr. Nakahara and a clumsy one from Merida. She didn't even realize that she had been holding her breath until both men had left the immediate vicinity. Pretending to straighten out an imaginary crinkle on her dress, she took a second to calm herself before making her way to the buffet table. This time no one interrupted her, so she helped herself to at least five of the tiny apple pie slices, each barely larger than her pinky.

While she nibbled carefully through piece number three the way that her mother had taught her, it struck her that Mr. Nakahara's choice of words was odd indeed. It was pretty well-known that her mother ran the show in the company, even when her father was alive. So why he had said she'd 'follow her father's footsteps' instead of her mother's? Surely the latter made more sense. Or had the interpreter made a mistake in translation?

Yet, in the back of her head, an odd little rhyme rang –

 _'Follow steps of the Bear King,_

 _Follow his hunting call,_

 _Follow his ride to battle,_

 _Follow him to his fall...'_

Merida gazed up from her plate sharply, the fork slipping from her hand as she did. The clatter of the utensil on the floor earned her looks from some other party guests, but her own eyes were searching for the strange businessman she knew nothing about. However, he and his interpreter had already melted into the crowd.

* * *

Okay, Anna, pick. Green frilling or gold frilling?

Green went well with her eyes, but gold went equally as well with her hair. Of course, that being said, dark green would look awful and lime green would look worse, so gold was a safer bet, just in case the dressmakers were didn't follow instructions properly. Then again, a dark gold would look just as bad. Everything with dark gold somehow looked old and gaudy, so there was no way she was letting that shade anywhere near her wedding.

"Sorry, but I don't quite follow that."

Anna was most abruptly jerked back into reality. The chandeliers, the bouquets, the white draperies, the gowns, the chimes – all of them were hastily folded back into the 'dream wedding' drawer in the recesses of her mind as she scrambled to remember where she was.

Right, she was on a date with Hans at the sandwich bar, like they had agreed on.

She brightened immediately up.

She was on a date with _Hans_. The wonderful, incredible drop-dead gorgeous Hans, who was actually in every way her match. He loved sandwiches, he had good-humor, he was really, really smart, and most importantly, he was as interested in the supers as she was. Honestly, tonight had been the first time in life that she had managed to hold a serious discussion about supers with anyone without that person going 'oh, please, that's kid stuff'. He wasn't exactly pro-super, which she would prefer, but he was able to explain why he had his reservations, so she definitely respected that. At least he was able to acknowledge that the difference between various supers and their relationship with their cities.

"Instead of implementing a countrywide ban of heroes, what the Ameripanian government should have done was relocate them from Metroville," he had explained in between bites of his Parma ham, ricola and cheese sandwich – a choice that she instantly approved. "It makes sense, you see, because Metroville has one of the most efficient police units in Ameripan, and there were too many supers crowded in that city. Having supers there became more a bane than boon. But in other cities with fewer supers and weaker crime units, supers had become a significant figure in law enforcement. That's why implementing the Anti-Hero Act so abruptly resulted in the police workload increasing tenfold overnight." He had made a scoff. "And people wonder why crime has gone up over the last twenty years."

With her chin rested upon a fist, she had gawked at him, almost drooling. Where had this beautiful, perfect man been all her life?

"Um, Anna?" Oh, right. She hadn't answered him.

"Oh, erm, that was nothing," she said. "Just this crazy thought I had." She peered at the crumb-stained hands with a sigh. Crumpled wrappers of their finished sandwiches and empty glasses were all that adorned the dining table. Time always passed so quickly when you're having fun.

"Well, I love crazy, so you can tell me." That's another thing she really liked about him. He was such a good listener. Hadn't so many girls always complained all over the Internet how their boyfriends never listened to them? Well, Hans was nothing like those guys. He sympathized, he empathized and he always gave the right answer. "So what's this about a wedding?"

"O-kay," she gave in at last. "But don't laugh, and don't freak out."

"Cross my heart," he uttered in mock seriousness, his eyes dancing with merriment.

She chuckled nonetheless. "Okay, I was – don't laugh, I mean it – planning our, erm, imaginary wedding."

She watched him suddenly go still and wondered if she might have just given him a seizure.

And then he threw his head back and cackled.

"I told you not to laugh," she chided, but her heart wasn't in it. She was just relieved that he wasn't taking this so badly. The last time she had ever brought up marriage to anyone was to some terrified kid in kindergarten, who promptly fled her presence and screamed for his mama.

"I'm sorry." He coughed, pulling a straight face at once, though she could tell that he was barely suppressing his laughter. "It's just, well, you don't need to marry me just because I paid for dinner."

"Wait, what?" Sure enough, the waitress was already returning with his credit card and the receipt, which Hans accepted with thanks. She probably hadn't noticed the bill arriving at the table after she had sunken into her daydreams. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I mean, we should have split the bill first. How much do-"

"Nope, this one's on me," he insisted. "I was the one who knocked a cab door right in your face."

"Well, I did kind of walk into the cab door, so technically it's my fault too," she countered, leaning forward to grab the slip of paper.

"Whoa!" He swiftly moved it out her reach. "Nope, I'm paying for this one."

"C'mon, it's not fair to you," she insisted, reaching out to try again.

"Sorry, nope." He swiftly whipped out his wallet and shoved the slip in. "It's my treat." Observing how she sighed and shook her head, he added, "Well, if it puts your feministic wiles to rest, you can pay for the next one."

Her jaw fell open.

Realizing that he might have been too forward, Hans quickly added, slightly embarrassed, "I mean, if you would like to go out with me again."

He asked her out. He wanted to see her again.

 _He wanted to see her again._

 _'Say yes, you moron!'_ her instinct told her. _'When Prince Charming asks you on a date, you ask 'what time?''_

But practicality prompted her to reply otherwise. "Oh, actually, I'm returning to Arenashi tomorrow."

She felt a sinking in her own chest as she watched how his shoulders drooped. "Oh."

"But I could call?" she suggested lamely.

"Yes, please! Do!" She did feel a bit better with how enthusiastic he seemed. "I would like that. A lot."

Necessary contacts were exchanged – though technically they did have each other's numbers, but Hans insisted that she had his email and he had hers. She did manage to give him all her social media IDs as well, and he promised that he would 'like' every single thing she posted, no matter how unfunny.

However, parting was still an eventuality, so both of them rose to their feet. He had offered her hand, to which she gladly took, and they made their way out of the eatery, leaving the glaring neon lights and the smell of oil on crust behind.

"I have to walk back," she told him, though she really didn't want to leave. In a matter of fact, she didn't want to leave Burgeshima at all. She hadn't found the story she had wanted, or any story worth telling in a matter of fact. Once she was back in Arenashi, her mentor would berate her for her recklessness and how she had wasted her time. Besides, despite Kristoff's own misgivings, she found Burgeshima somehow...magical. Like a miracle was just waiting around the corner, or the next alley.

Well, the other half of her 'match-made-in-heaven' apparently didn't think so. "Walking at this time of the night?" Hans shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

"It's not that late, it's only-" and then she checked her phone. It was half-past eleven. Wow. They had been out that long?

"C'mon, I'll drive you back to the hostel," he offered. "It's not parked too far from-"

"Thanks, but I got it from here."

Standing in front of them was the last hulking blonde boy she expected to see. "Kristoff?"

"Hi." He gave her a tight smile, which faded almost instantly as when his eyes fell on Hans. "You must be the date."

"And you must be the pushy partner," Hans answered just as coldly, letting go of Anna's arm just to fold his own together.

Kristoff didn't budge an inch – no surprise, since he was at least three inches taller than the lawyer. "Well, I'm sure Anna had a great time complaining about me, so if you don't mind, we're going to walk back now."

Before Anna could protest, her blonde partner had already grabbed her arm and began to lead her away from the redhead, marching them straight pass the train station.

"I'll call!" she yelled back to Hans, trying to wave only to almost trip over when hrt shoes caught onto a drain cover.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going instead," Kristoff told her drily as he dragged her down the street. "That way you might just not fall flat on your face in front of the love of your life."

"Oh, shut up," she told him crossly, roughly removing his grip on her. She glanced behind, but Hans was no longer in sight. "Great, I didn't get to say a proper goodbye."

"Well, you can call him if you want, but only _after_ we reach the hostel." Kristoff waved at her to follow. "Can you walk any faster?"

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked while struggling to keep up with his pace. All the shops that usually lined the streets were closed and the roads were as good as deserted. Even the lights in most apartments had been turned off by now.

"You hadn't checked in by nine," he said gruffly, looking intently at the path ahead. "So I went to find you."

"You went to find -" she broke off as a curious thought struck her. "Wait. Were you worried about me?"

"What! No, of course not." His denials were fervent, but under the orange-lit streets at night, she detected a slight reddening of his cheeks.

"Aw, you were worried." Her face split into a wide smile. "That's so sweet." Then Anna frowned. "Well, if you'd been less worried, I'd be riding in Hans' car right now."

He pretty much spat it out. "Like I'd let that happen."

"Hey," she protested as they took a turn just before the end of the street, leading them into a quiet alley on the backstreet. "Hans isn't the kind of guy to take advantage of a girl."

"Please." He rolled his eyes as they passed the graffiti-splashed walls. "You don't even know him."

"Well, I do know him better than you do, so I think I'm a better authority on what he would or wouldn't do," she retorted. "Despite what you think, not all human beings are evil sociopa-"

She never did get to finish her sentence, because for the second time that night, unexpected company showed up.

Squeezed in tight space of the alley besides the duo from Arenashi were four darkly garbed figures. From the glint provided by the lights from the streets, Anna noted that their heads had been shaved clean, covered with elaborate tattoos rather than hair. All wore simple bagging leggings and all had their arms uncovered, showing off the remarkable patterns etched on their skin. A recurring symbol that she noted amongst the motifs was a bright red eye, drawn with red swirls attached to its side.

Oh, she should mention that one of them, the one with scar drawn across his eye, had a gun pointing at her head.

"Hands up," he ordered. It went without saying that unarmed and definitely not trained to deal with these kind of situations, both journalism interns did just that.

"I'm blame you," Kristoff hissed to her.

"Hey, we could have gone back in Hans' car. I'm sure he'd take you if I asked," she answered hotly.

"Shut up!" another hoodlums snapped at her. The tattooed gangsters moved forward, positioning themselves in semi-circular formation, all facing the two with their eyes narrowed. With them closer to her, Anna realized that they couldn't be much older than her. They could very well be students – well, if they bothered wearing wigs to school. She noted that how they spoke harshly amongst themselves, but it wasn't in English. She had learned some conversational Japanese back in high school, so she tried discreetly listening in, but to her bewilderment, she didn't understand a single word.

Letting out a curse under his breath about how cliché the entire scene was, the blonde boy stepped forwards, saying, "Look, if you want our money, fine. But, just saying, we don't have much. We're just stud-"

"We don't want your money."

"What?" Anna was stunned. "Then what do you want?"

"We need to send a message," the scarred-eyed fellow told them, the barrel of his pistol still pointed at her. "You're going to be the letter."

And it struck Anna how terrifyingly irreversible her fate was about to be.

Just as the man pulled the trigger, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying that wherever the bullet struck, it would be fast and painless.

But the bullet never came.

Anna opened her eyes, confused. She was still in a dark alley, which smelled off soured juice and rotting food, so that part wasn't a dream. She was still standing at the mercy of four tattooed gangsters, so that too wasn't a dream. The part that she couldn't decide on was whether the chunk of ice that had the man's hand, his pistol and his newly released bullets frozen in motion like a Jurassic amber fossil was a just hallucination.

The man exclaimed in surprise as he glanced at his own hand, and his companions too held the sight in complete amazement. She and Kristoff should have taken the moment run, but it seemed they too had been enchanted by the sight.

That meant went that the gust of wind struck them, it knocked everyone off their feet, sending them flying everywhere.

Anna winced as she pulled herself from the ground and pulled a face as she noted how her knees and skirt were stained with grime. She brushed the snow off her dress as she gradually rose to her –

Wait. Snow?

She glanced down at her shirt, then to the ground, then she stared up.

It was snowing. In spring. In the middle of Burgeshima.

"Hold it!" She jumped at the coarse voice, spinning towards it. One of the other gangsters – not the scar-eyed dude - had too recovered. His own revolver was pointed her way. "You're not going any – _oomphf_!"

That gangster was now pinned to the red walls of the alley, trapped behind a blanket of ice. His gun had fallen out of his hand, landing uselessly on the ground. Anna glanced around in alarm, seeking the source of these mysterious happenings, and her heart almost stopped.

Even in the darkness, even after the years had eaten into her memories, she knew that crooked staff. She knew that hooded figure, and she knew the gleaming blue eyes.

The hero was locked in a fearsome battle with another hooligan. The fellow was armed with a long knife and he wasn't unpracticed with it, given the stains along it. Nonetheless, his lunges proved useless against someone who could move with the wind, and in no time at all, the hooded hero had grabbed him by the shoulder, locked his elbow with his own arm and tossed him to the ground. As he lay there groaning in pain, the hero tapped his staff on his back, spreading a layer of ice over his torso to lock him down. One wily fellow thought himself clever to attack the hero while his back was turned, so he whipped out his gun to fire. But the hero ducked in time, before proceeding to do an elegant back flip, ending with double-foot kick in the criminal's stomach. The fellow toppled rather comedically, grabbing his abdomen as he did. The hero then directed the staff towards him, freezing him where he was, but leaving the face uncovered so that he could breathe.

Then Anna suddenly felt a clammy hand grab her shoulder, and before she knew it, a tattooed arm was locked around her neck, one that was still frozen in a block. The free hand produced a cool blade of steel, which was pointed at her throat. "Hold it right there or I'll kill her!"

The hooded figure gazed sharply towards them and it was then Anna noticed that instead of a scarf around the nose mouth, he now wore a black mask to cover the upper half of his face, only revealing his eyes. His lips were curved into a definitive frown.

She shifted uneasily in the sweaty, sticky arm, but the one-eyed gangster wouldn't let her free. Backing them both carefully away from the hero, the gangster eased them down the alley, slowly but surely making his way back to the main street where he'd make a run for it. The question was whether he'd slit her throat before he did that.

But knowing full well that the hero of her childhood was here, Anna had the faith that she would never need to know the answer to that question.

And she was right too. Just as both her and her captor were about to reach the end of the alley, the gangster suddenly lost his balance, falling backwards. In an attempt to break his fall, he let go off both the knife and Anna, yelling frantically as he crashed onto the ice that had appeared under his feet. The brunette would have joined him in his tumble if the hero hadn't dashed forward right then, using the crook of his staff to jolt her back to her feet and at the same time pulling her away from the villain. It was here that Anna noted the change in the staff. He had apparently coated with some kind of ice-covering, giving it a more crystalline appearance.

"It looks prettier than when I last saw it," she told the hero with a slight giggle.

He just stared silently at her, so much that she wondered if he had heard what she had said at all. In the darkness, she couldn't read his expression. Was he confused? Or did he remember?

She was about to ask when he abruptly spun on his heel, sprinting straight down the alley.

"Wait!" she ran after the white figure, hopping over the entrapped criminals. "Hold on a moment!"

But his feet were fleet indeed, and he had made half way across the road by the time she reached the alley.

Still, she didn't cease chase. "I need to talk to you!"

The figure didn't stop, darting down another alley. Ice and snow grew from each step he took, growing into splendid white patterns. Anna crossed these patterns, hoping desperately that they took her nearer and not further.

"Please!" she cried, her feet beating against the dirt, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could not beat him in a race, she knew that. "Stop! My name's Anna! Don't you remember?"

Just as abruptly as his escape was his pause. He stopped in the middle of the alley, his back facing her. The break had come none too soon, for she was certain that she could not possibly run anymore. Panting, heaving, she gasped, "We last saw each other at the Black Raven Hotel. Ten years ago."

She noticed a hesitation in his movement. Slowly, he turned to face her, hugging his staff tight towards him. Behind the black mask, she saw his brilliant eyes bearing into hers.

She continued on, "You saved my life. You were my hero. Actually, well,-" she smiled, "-you've kind of been my hero for the last ten years."

He didn't answer still, but she noticed a flicker in his expression – not a happy one. It actually looked…guilty?

Then it hit her. "It's about my sister, isn't?"

Still no words.

"It's not your fault. I know you did your best."

Silence alone greeted her. He averted his gaze.

She didn't want to him to be guilty. She didn't want to him to even feel that way. "The ice-thing, the collapse - I know you didn't mean it." She saw him hanging his head low, ashamed, but she went on, "It doesn't matter what other people think, because I know the truth. You're a hero. And if people stop believing in you, let them. I'll always believe in you. I always have."

She tried to step forward, to reach a comforting hand towards him, but then she realized she couldn't. There was a barrier in her way – a glassy barrier. It grew thicker with each second, and opaque frost patterns began to form all over it. She saw the deep blue eyes behind the mask watching her sadly, before the hero spun away, fleeing once again.

"Jack, wait!" She hammered a fist against the wall, but it wouldn't budge. She pushed against it, smacking her palms on it till they turned red, but he made it too well.

He shut her out. Why did that sound familiar?

She didn't know how long she stood there, staring through the frosted ice, not knowing what to do. When she heard a sound behind, she whirled about, raising her fist to punch.

"Whoa! Fiesty pants!" Kristoff took a step back, raising his arms as he did. "You really need a chill pill."

"Had one," she murmured listlessly, jabbing a finger at the ice wall. It hadn't even begun to melt.

"Oh, wow. That is awesome." Kristoff took a moment to drink in the sight, before adding sardonically, "Thanks for checking on me back there."

"Oh." She hadn't realized that she had abandoned Kristoff at the alley while pursuing Jack, who just couldn't wait to get away from her. "Sorry, how are you?"

"Got a hit in the head, but it's alright. I've got a thick skull."

She really wasn't interested right now. She was feeling far too miserable. "Huh."

"So I reckoned you were too shaken up to do anything just now," he went on, as not noticing her mood, "so I figured that I should let you know that I wasn't. And because I'm horribly nice, I'll let you share."

"Share?" She blinked at him. "Share what?"

The grin that Kristoff gave her was one that she hadn't seen since they had first arrived in Burgeshima. Whipping out his phone, he made a few taps on it, before showing her the screen. "This."

The angle wasn't the best, but Kristoff's hand were steady enough for the entire scene to be understood. The spurts of ice appearing almost magically everywhere, the aggressiveness of the gang members and the swiftness by which the hero defeated them.

"Looks like we got our story."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Finally! Some actual crime fighting! I though I'd never see it happen.**  
 **The entire play-act in the front part is still part of a scene in Megamind, but with deviations because that's what happens in play-acting - you take liberties with the story. If you've watched the movie, you might understand why ice cubes at the end of it.**  
 **Just remember the name 'Matahari' - it's importantly for later.**

 **The other 'villains' named in Jamie's book are some of the antagonists in the 'Guardians of Childhood' books.**

 **I wonder if I made it obvious enough on how Jamie's parents died - or at least, who to blame.**

 **The whole 'bombing the place then paying for repairs' thing that Tooth experienced is actually a tactic that the mobster Al Capone used to get bars to sell his smuggled alcohol during prohibiton-era America.**  
 **If you can't remember who's Kumori Nakahara, see chapter 5.**  
 **Merida and Hiccup team up! Sort of!**  
 **Anna is a sad person. Give her a hug if you see her moping in the corner. If you can't remember her relationship with Jack, see chapter 4.**  
 **Up Next: There are quite a few routes I can go from here, so what shall it be? Will Kristoff and Anna publish their first story? Will our hooded vigilante get caught in the act? Will we follow Hiccup on his investigations? Will Rapunzel get her bike back? Will 13 ever appear after so much talk about him? That remains to be seen.**

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, I'm in the process of applying for some courses that I really want, so I've been busy prepping all the paperwork. That and I'm starting a new internship. Busy, busy as a bumbling bee, except that I hate honey.**

 **As a Disney fanatic, I went to the theatres to watch Zootopia and it's really good. I didn't find it hilarious, but it was very creative, touching even, and had a surprisingly mature message to convey. It's a good watch even if you're not a big animation fan. That aside, I'll probably bring a human version of Judy Hopps into this story, 'coz why create a police officer when I can have a character who is already one?**

 **I'm also proud to announce that I've finally finished my cover art for this story. It's the first time I've tried to draw in a comic book cover style (inspired heavily by Batgirl New 52 #35's cover), especially for the background, so though it's not perfect, I'm quite content with it.**

 **Guest Mailbox:**

 **JX101: Wow, that is dramatic and I mean the whole thing, not just the top. Thanks for threatening to kill me - it brightens up my day - though I think that might work against your interest as a dead author is non-updating author...**

 **Please a leave a review if you've enjoyed this. This story is fighting for attention with my other story and my life, and though I'd like to be above mercenary sentiments, I admit I'm more inclined to pen the more popular story. But yeah, it is up to you.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	10. Chpt 10: It's Not Easy

"-the government service won't help because her husband isn't a citizen and they don't have the official papers. The insurance company claims it isn't covered either." The interpreter waited patiently for the woman kneeling in the centre of the room to add more words. "She has a daughter. Just entered College a few months ago. She doesn't know about her father's condition yet. She fears that her daughter would quit studying to pay the bills."

The office of the _Kumicho_ had strict working hours; seven in the morning till seven in the evening. Even then, the _Kumicho's_ presence in the office was dependent on his own commitments and ability – not that Pitch was incapable of being anything but the perfect leader for the organization. He had vision, intelligence and a menacing aura that left mighty men quivering in their shoes. People feared him, and because of that, they recognized his power. Surely, if such a fearsome man could be on your side, no one could stand against you.

Too often he had individuals come in the office, groveling for vengeance, or mercy, or both. There was always some boy who wanted a scholarship. Some girl who wanted her cheating boyfriend dead. Some company director who wanted to wipe out their rivals. Burgeshima was far too ridden in corruption and crime for them to achieve their goals via the straight and narrow, but taking it in their own hands was unfeasible. So they came to creator and controller of its disasters – him.

Obviously, it would be impossible for him to process all their requests, so he had a team of administrators familiar with his methods to handle the massive numbers. It freed up his time for lots of things, like going to the theatre, or mingling with his associates, or scaring some high-flying shareholder back in line. Once in a while though, he would actually attend to the sessions. The administrators still did most of the questioning and talking, but there was an unspoken rule about deferring the judgment to him. All the gentlemen and ladies, donning their respectable _kimonos_ and _yukatas_ , kneeled behind the long wooden tables, would turn their heads towards the skulking figure pacing about in the shadowy corner of the office, waiting for a 'yay' or 'nay'. Like a Shogun in the days of Tokugawa, a word from him instantly resulted in gracious gifts, or slow, torturous death.

For most part throughout the interview, Pitch had been standing of the back office window, idly gazing out. The _shiro_ have some of the most magnificent views in the night, and he liked staring out at the sky over the sleeping city. He liked imagining the vastness of the universe, in all its wondrous starry splendor, crushed in the palms of his hands, with its broken shrapnel then swallowed in the darkness. As fun as that was, it didn't mean that he wasn't listening. Just as one of the administrators was about to speak, he cut in, his voice no louder than a scratch in the stillness, yet the stillness waited in anticipation for him, "Why come to us?"

All heads had already been turned in his direction after the first syllable left his mouth. Fingers froze themselves over the keyboards, prepared to swing back into action should he elaborate. And elaborate, Pitch did. "Why come to us, Mrs. Fa, when you can barely speak a word of Japanese, or even English?" He angled slightly towards the petitioner, his brows furrowed together. "Why not the Chinese Triads? Wouldn't you be more comfortable seeking help from – how should I put this-" he made show of pondering a suited phrase"– 'your own kind'?"

Even in translation, the underlying threat was evident. The Chinese woman hesitated as she heard the words, her back was straight yet her head held at a humble incline as she thought out her answer. The eyes in the office darted back to her, coolly assessing her body response long before the verbal one was produced. The pair of golden eyes, however, sought something else.

"The Triads consists of gangsters - greedy hooligans. They don't care about their fellow countrymen," the interpreter translated for the woman. "On the other hand, you, the great _Kumicho_ , have been said to be a person of mercy. You have been known to show compassion to foreigners and local alike."

"Occasionally, I have my moments," Pitch admitted dryly, "but I'm hardly Santa Claus – I don't feed my enemies." The last word was spoken the softest, but yet the iron in it was evident.

This was conveyed to the woman, who swallowed visibly. Her answer spoken in a wobbly tone, one that Pitch could barely hear, and it was subsequently translated, "Our clan would forever be in your debt if you help us."

He didn't answer at once, for he was occupied in his own searching of the woman. He could almost smell the fear reeking of her – and why shouldn't she feel that way? She was in the very heart of Burgeshima's fanatically traditional crime syndicate, graced by the presence of its enigmatic leader, pleading for a cause when she had so little to offer in return. She was a foreigner, dragged into this strange country by her energetic daughter, still not yet accustomed to it ways. She was unused to the natives of this land, yet she did not trust those who born on the same soil as her – not while they carried themselves in such a disgusting manner. Behind all that, Pitch could sense desperation mixed her fear for her husband's illness. Clearly, he was the breadwinner and the only other English-speaking member of the small family.

All very pathetic fears, but genuine enough. He did so despise deceivers.

Turning to one of the associates – which really meant, some who happened to associate with him and was way, way below his status - he said, "See what you can do for her."

The associate nodded, and the other administrators sprang to life, keying in the notes into their laptops while the interpreter passed the verdict to the woman. She let out a gasp of relief and blabbered her gratitude to him in her dialect, making to ecstatic bows in his direction. The interpreter diligently translated the babble, before Pitch grew tired of it and waved them away. He made sure that Mrs. Fa was led from the room before he instructed another associate, "Do a thorough background check of their family to see if it's true – including the daughter. It would be very unfortunate for the Fa family if there's even the slightest connection between them and the Triads."

"At once, sir," the administrator said, folding up the laptop and taking his leave, bowing once after standing up and bowing again before leaving the office. Just as the door was about slide shut, a hand came up to stop it. Pitch, as well as the rest of the committee, turned their head towards it. It was his secretary – well, at least the one that handled his affairs within the Yakuza, not those of personal interests.

"Ter-terribly, sorry, sir," the sheepish woman began. Pitch rolled his eyes. Despite her eagerness to work and the diligence in her manner, Bellwether was a stuttering, fumbling clutz of a forty year-old. The only reason why she held the rank that she did with the Yakuza was due to her impeccable academic record, and not to mention she used to be a government official. Such connections were handy from time-to-time. "B-but there's been, er, some d-development-"

"What is it?" he snapped, barely able to keep his teeth from grinding against each other.

"Well,-" the secretary gulped nervously, before saying, "-we've got her, sir."

"Who, exactly?" Pitch made a quizzical frown, but her next words sent his brows rising up in surprise.

"The author."

* * *

The _shiro_ had two to three floors assigned just as a prison. This was because they were smart at this point not to trust the police jails. After all, their own members were more than capable of breaking out of government-provided jails so often, so when the Yakuza locked up their prisoners, they made sure that the security was actually half-decent.

I won't bore you with the dull descriptions of the smells, sights and sounds of the _shiro_ prison. Instead, I will direct you attention to one of the characters within one of the prisons. She had been provided a bed, a table and a bucket to do her 'business'. After much haggling, she had eventually convinced them to lend her a laptop.

You might wonder to yourself who this individual was, what she looked like and why she was here. But since I don't feel like telling you the first, I really don't want to tell you the second, and the third shall be revealed shortly, I shan't tell you anything at all.

Well, the echoes of the doors bursting open echoed throughout the prison cell, because that's what echoes do. You know, bounce of walls, whoosh around a bit, then fly into your eardrums and creep you out.

Anyway, so the Nightmare King had decided to grace this particularly unremarkable, horrifically mediocre individual with his blackish, awesome-ish presence. He paused before the cell containing whom the Yakuza had dubbed 'The Author'. His golden eyes gleamed like the brass of a tuba. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

The individual yanked her eyes away from the laptop, her fingers paused in their position. Which was unfortunate, really, because she had been trying to type the word 'ask' and she unfortunately forgot to lift that finger up as she typed in the letter 'a', so the next page ended up containing nothing but that dastardly letter. Waste of space if you aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaask me.

Oh, well, the conversation between the Nightmare King and the Author had begun and we're missing it. Perhaps we should tune in now.

"There's been a question I had been dying to ask you, oh great author," the pale man intoned through the bars – and by that, I meant that he spoke in between the spaces of the prison bars, not like through the lead atoms that made up the prison bars.

I realize that I'm not making very much sense. Eh.

The author peered at him after having lifted her finger from the dreaded letter 'a', nodding slowly. "Uh-huh."

"It had been bothering me for very long time."

"Uh-huh…."

"Sometimes I stay up late at night, pondering deeply over it," Pitch elaborated, pacing about, his expression almost antagonized. "I tried to suppress it, but it gnaws me on the insides, chewing me up and consuming me. It's like this giant black hole, sucking me in, making me claw at the edges of my sanity as I struggle to piece this together-"

"Dude, I don't mean to interrupt you, but-" the author gestured at the laptop, "-I have college applications to do, so if you don't mind cutting short the monologue, I can like-" she fumbled for a word "-well, go on and live my boring life?"

"Right, of course, sorry." Pitch cleared his throat. "What I had been meaning to ask is this-"

The author nodded encouragingly.

"-it's a really simple question, really. I was wondering why no one asked before-"

The author continued nodding encouragingly.

"-and if you could answer this, it would put me out of my misery-"

The author pulled a face of disbelief because, please, Pitch is most fun when he's miserable. But never mind that for now, she continued her sage nodding because she actually nodding off to sleep.

Fortunately, after much delay, Pitch finally spoke up, "Why SharKohen? Do you like fishes? Do you secretly have a great affinity with marine life?" There was a threatening tone growing in his tone, the volume of his words rising. "Are you secretly an underwater mermaid spy posing as human in order to take over the upper world by through ice-cap melting and global warming? Are you?" He slammed his fists against the metal bars. "ARE YOU?"

The author stared at the Nightmare King for a long moment, before speaking the wise words every great writer knows –

"Say wad?"

* * *

Hiccup felt a distinct pain in his right temple.

Why did he have such a pain? Well, it was very simple. The author needed a way to start a new section of the story, and she couldn't think of a good one, so she decided to give Hiccup a pain in his head for no other reason than for using it to signal the beginning of a new section.

Oh, yeah. He might have also been attacked by knockout gas but phffff! Who cares?

"Where am I?" he mumbled to himself as he came to, rubbing his head, which still hurt really badly (the author had thought of placing a simile here to emphasize the severity of this migraine, but she couldn't think of one, so...) He opened his eyes and he found himself surrounded by a bunch of chatting people, all seated in circle on sears..

"Hey there!" one of the members in the circle beamed at him. He was a white-haired boy carrying a staff, which he placed on his lap. He tapped the empty chair next to him. "You might want to sit here instead. Don't want you blocking up the middle."

"Oh, okay." Hiccup crawled over the spot, sitting himself down next to the other boy. He frowned as he scratched his head, the migraine lessening as his brain-fuzz cleared. "What are we doing here?"

"Oh, it's character feedback group. CFP." Seeing that his auburn-hair companion appeared confused, the white-haired boy explained, "You know, where characters within a fanfiction story gather to discuss their sufferings and ask the author stuff."

"Really?" Hiccup raised a brow as he surveyed the group. There was a girl with twin braids seated on a white chair, sobbing in her hands while a brunette with a pixie cut awkwardly patted her back. On another side, he saw a black-haired boy talking animatedly to a beautiful girl, who had her blonde hair up in a braid. He noted with amusement that what he guessed must been a pair of siblings had matching shirts saying _'We exist! Stop ignoring us!'_

"Those are the Parr siblings. From _'The Incredibles',_ you know. Flashy superhero flick," Jack told him as he noted where the boy's eyes were. Apparently, somehow Hiccup knew his name was Jack without the boy needing to introduce himself, because suddenly he realized he knew everyone's name. This was an impossible feat, of course, but the author was far too lazy to actually write a scene of how this person learned that person's name, so she skipped it. "They haven't actually had any role in this story yet."

"Oh, okay." Hiccup nodded, pretending to understand, before deciding to ask Jack, "What usually happens during these sessions?"

"Oh, you know, complains, grumbles, talks about lack of pay." Jack counted off his fingers. "Oh, wait. We don't get paid. Apparently being fictional means that you're not entitled to income." He stuck his tongue out. "Boo, author, boo."

"Alright, alright, everyone, let's get settled. The session is starting." The person speaking was actually a very unremarkable person with an unremarkable appearance, so much that Hiccup felt an overwhelming need to not to actually to describe her at all. She took the last empty seat in the circle – a circle which had over fifty people and more, Hiccup realized. Wow, were there really that many that characters?

Anyway, unremarkable person – who was apparently the author - had a laptop, and she set it up on her lap (because that's where LAPtops deserve to be, not on your desk. That's what desktops are for.) "Alright, I'm here to take you're feedback. If you haven't read the T&Cs, do it now. Raise your hand before you speak."

Dozens of hands shot up around the circle.

"Oh,-" the unremarkable person added with a critical glare, "-I reserve the right to kill you off if you offend me."

Some of the hands slowly retracted themselves.

"Alright." Unremarkable person pushed her glasses up, her finger ready to type. "Let's start with-" she groped around in the air for a bit before at the teary-eyed brunette with braids, "-Anna."

"Is it true that I'm going to get betrayed and heart-broken?" the girl blurted out.

"Didn't you watch your own movie, Anna? You got heart-broken in there– and heart-frozen too. And if you remember, I like to try keep things canonical." The author sighed as she scrolled through the document on her laptop. "So yes, you'll get betrayed and heart-broken like-" she peered down at her computer screen "-at least three times. I'm quite surprised I'm not going to kill you off with a heart attack."

"Wait,-" the girl's face was horror-stricken, her voice suddenly small, "-I die in this story?"

"Um,-" the unremarkable person bit her lip, "-I never said – but I can't- well, you see-"

Anna burst in tears again, bawling in her palms like a baby who had the candy, the cot and the milk taken from her. The pixie cut girl, Rapunzel, glared at the girl with the laptop as she petted her friend (wait, since when were they friends? They haven't even met yet in this story!), who decided hastily to take another question, "Merida?"

"Why's my father dead at the start of this story?" The Scottish girl demanded with an unsatisfied wriggle of her brow, folding her arms. "It kind'a unnecessary, don't you think? I'm one of the few Disney characters with both parents livin' in my movie. You didn't need to take that away."

"Well, I do here," the author answered bluntly. "Live with it." Before the redhead could protest, the person with the laptop pointed to another character with a question, "Eug-Flynn."

The man didn't hesitate. "Is there actually a point for me stealing Rapunzel's motorbike in Chapter 3?"

There was a short pause, before the author said, with eyes nervously flitting back and forth, "Y-yes."

"Really?" He cocked a skeptical brow. "It seemed to me that you just made it up out of nowhere."

"….no."

"You hesitated," a voice piped up from the centre of the circle.

All eyes turned to the comically-shaped snowman waddling about there, waving his stick arms. "Hi, I'm Olaf and I like warm hugs. I haven't introduced to the main story ye-"

Abruptly, a heatwave swarmed over the ground and the talking snowman's body disintegrating.

"Hey, look guys!" Olaf beamed as his abdomen turned into clear liquid. "I'm sinking into the floor!"

"And soon you'll join the evaporation and condensation cycle," the author muttered, smacking the keys of her laptop with vengeance.

All characters in the circle turned to stare at her for a long, long while. Some expressions were frightened, others were accusatory and a few were... congratulatory?

"You killed Olaf!" Elsa gasped. She was waving her hands frantically at the puddle, trying to reform him, but it didn't work. "How could you?"

"Well, I haven't worked out how to squeeze him in the story yet." The author shrugged. "Anyway, he was kind'a offending me, so, _yeah_."

"YOU KILLED MY CHILDHOOD LINK TO MY SISTER!" howled Anna in despair. "YOU DESTROYED THE FUNNIEST SNOWMAN EVER! HOW COULD YOU?"

The characters stared hard at the author, awaiting her response. Feeling rather uneasy about it, she raised her arms slightly in defeat. "Climate Change? El Niño?"

No one bought it.

"Okay then," she decided to continue in a bright tone, raising her voice over Anna's sobbing. "Who's next?"

Only one hand was raised.

The author let out a deep exhale, before daring to ask, "Jack?"

"So,-" the boy leaned back, tucking his hands casually into his hoodie pockets "-when's Jelsa happening?"

* * *

"I know creatures like you!" the Nightmare King bellowed, pointing an accusing finger through the bars. "You just pretend that you're a humble, ordinary nerd with average academic qualifications and subpar talent, but you are not! You are filthiest of all races! Marine scum! Barnacle wastage! Scurvy seadog!"

The author blinked.

"Don't think I don't know your plans," Pitch hissed vehemently. "Oh, yes, I know them. You wish destroy this world just to craft it in your own image! You wish to wash us land-creatures out so that you can indulge in your fantasies about bringing your marine-world above shore! I know you're fishy schemes and your crustacean plots! I see you for you all that you are! ALL THAT YOU ARE!"

The author peered at her own penname, thought milling through her head. If her mind was a giant search engine, then keying in 'Marine life' and 'fish' in her brain would only produce images of food and the _Jaws_ theme song, so she didn't really get it.

Wait…. _Jaws_?

 _Jaws_ had …sharks.

Shark.

SharK.

SharKohen.

And suddenly enlightenment descends upon on the author like an anvil on a crystal ball. Of course, this was an honest mistake!

"Well, guess what? I don't want to be 'Part of Your World'," Pitch declared fiercely. "And if you think that I'll be going 'Under the Sea' and join you at the 'Fathoms Below', well, all I can say is that the Nightmare King will turn you all into plates of 'Les Poissons', and I think you should go 'Kiss the-"

A sudden breeze swept pass them as an unexpected portal on one wall. A figure emerged from it – a white-haired boy with a staff – and he was cackling like a psychopath watching a horror flick. Casting his staff forward, he shouted, "Hey, Pitch! Eat Ice!"

However, the ice shards that were supposed to shower down in Pitch were cast aside by waves of black sand, letting the glassy projectiles clatter to the ground. Observing how quickly his efforts were had been rendered useless, the boy made a nervous chuckle at the infuriated enemy.

"Um, it was just a prank?" Jack offered to the blood-boiling villain.

Pitch let out a growl that sounded vaguely in between like a lion tearing at its own throat and a macaw trying to whistle through its beak, and his hands were stretched out towards Jack in full readiness for attack. However, just as he was about to turn Jack Frost into a spool of bloody ribbons, the Boogeyman was suddenly frozen in place, turned into a big black crystalized statue.

"Well, that I say that he needs to chill,'" announced the savior of the day, emerging from the shadows. Elsa brushed the snow of her palms as she shook her blonde braid side to side, looking mighty pleased at her work. She didn't pay much mind to the author in the prison, turning to the boy instead, "So, who are you, cutie?"

Jack pressed a cold palm to his own chest, declaring dramatically, "I'm Jack, and I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

"Aww, that's sweet," Elsa cooed, battering her eyelids. "I think you're the most handsome fellow I've ever met."

Both of them linked their hands together, both faces full of awe and love and complete sloppiness. "Together, I think we'll be the coolest couple to ever roam the Fanfiction universe."

" _Aaaaannndddd_ writing this is making my hair stand," a voice muttered from behind prison bars, but they didn't care, because they absolutely, completely and wonderfully in love and unicorns rode rainbow cotton clouds and the sky sparkled like magic and everything was nice and happy and sunshine and butterflies. Yay!

* * *

"There! Jelsa!" the author stamped the last letter down on her keyboard, before glancing up at the circle-seated throng. "Happy?"

There was a quiet silence, the kind that you have when you think that when you're waking from a really bad dream, but then realize that you were actually awake all along and your life really does suck that much.

Finally, Elsa said, sounding very much disturbed, "That was…really…"

"Nauseating," Jack, from across the circle, finished.

"Thank you!" Elsa beamed at the boy. "That's a rather remarkable word. It expressed my feelings so concisely!"

"My pleasure!" He grinned back. "It's always great to have someone who hates the author as fervently as-"

And all of sudden, the ice-powered boy and girl both vanished from their seats in a puff of smoke. Fellow characters gazed at each other at alarm, then at the girl who was typing away on the laptop. Seeing their horrified gazes, she explained, as reasonable as always, "They were annoying me."

Anna begun another full out sobbing session due to the loss of her sibling. Hiccup was starting rather irritated with the whole thing. Furious, he demanded of the author, "What did you do to them?"

"Relax," the girl said dismissively. "They're solving climate change. You know, so that the world doesn't flood and get taken over by Marine-crazy mermaids disguised as humans."

"What?"

"Long story." The author didn't elaborate. "Next question."

With Jack and Elsa gone, and Olaf murdered, no one expected any hands to be raised, but apparently, there was still one bold enough.

The author scrunched her face up in puzzlement. "Hans?"

The red-headed gentleman clasped his hands together, inquiring quite earnestly, "Who is 13, really?"

The reactions were instant from the circle.

"Wow, are you seriously asking that question?"

"Hans, everyone knows who 13 is."

"I mean, c'mon, he's sitting here with us – if you know what I mean."

'Really, Hans? Isn't that bit much? It's not like you can fool us."

All eyes were glaring at him, all heads shaking.

The red-headed fellow seemed puzzled. "What?"

"All of us know you're 13, laddie," Merida said, with a roll of her eyes. "It's so obvious."

"But I'm not!" Hans protested. "This idea, why, whatever – it's prosperous!"

"Nope, not buying it" and "Rubbish. We're not stupid" took up most of the responses on the floor.

"Actually," the author cut in through the chatter, "Hans is telling the truth. He's not 13."

The gasps of surprise echoed through the room.

"Then who is?" demanded Merida.

"I'm actually surprised you all haven't guessed it yet," the author remarked with amusement. Closing her laptop, she brought a hand towards her neck before suddenly peeling off the rubber mask from her face, revealing the true countenance behind it.

Everyone in the group took one look at her – him? Whatever - and screamed.

* * *

"Wait, let me get this straight." Jack massaged his temple, then said slowly, "This fanfiction story is essentially an author-self insert fic? Really?"

 _"Yep. Well, okay, it's a bit more complicated than that,"_ the voice in the phone told him. " _How on Earth are you getting signal in the Arctic anyway?"_

Jack glanced at the tundra around him. His keen eyes could spot some Polar Bears fishing for breakfast. Back to the phone, he answered, "No idea, really. Just put it down to fictional leap in logic."

 _"Alright then. I'm running out of battery, so I better call Elsa while I still can. Where is she, by the way?"_

"South Pole," the white-haired boy answered while swinging his staff around. "Anyway, I better get back to work before the author decides to kill me off or something."

 _"Please,"_ he heard Hiccup snort, _"the author would still kill you even if you bothered."_

The call ended, so Jack went back to his boring task of freezing whatever liquid that came his way. So far, everything was going according to plan. Climate change was being slowly reversed, El Niño was on the run and the world was going to be a better place.

At least, that was until he caught a whiff of gasoline.

"What the-" he spun around, and found that the ice tundra behind him had suddenly all caught fire. He gaped at in disbelief. "How's this even possible?"

"Gasoline!" he heard a happy voice chirp. He followed the source of the voice and found himself staring at a red-haired mermaid half-submerged in the pool between bits of icy land. She was carrying a flamethrower over her shoulder. She introduced herself enthusiastically, "Hi! I'm Ariel! My sisters and I are trying to flood the entire planet so that our daddy can rule over all of it."

"What?" The boy was bewildered.

"And now that I've told you this, I'll have to kill you," she said just as happily, aiming the flamethrower barrel at him. "Bye!"

Amidst the melting ice, the dripping petrol and scent of crisped flesh, I hope that you can take back one important message for today:

Don't trust mermaids. They create climate change.

* * *

 **Happy April Fool's Day!**

 **That was one chunk of absolute nonsense. Everything here is fake, so just disregard this all in the storyline (though as you might be able to tell, part of the front is actually from the real chapter – more about it will be explained later.) The real chapter would be uploaded eventually, don't I can't say when. I am prepping for applications and stuff.**

 **Oh, the whole 'SharK-ohen' and marine life thing was actually based on a question one reader asked me some time agovia PM (you know who you are.) I still chuckle when I think about it. I don't hate Jelsa or Olaf (I do like Olaf a lot actually), but it was convenient for me to make them miserable.**

 **Guest Reviews for the previous chapter would be replied in the real chapter.**

 **See ya round.**


	11. Chpt 10: It's Not Easy (for Real)

**This is the real Chapter 10 'It's Not Easy'. No pranks this time.**

* * *

Jamie Bennett was no fool when it came to stories. He was type of boy you find curled up with a book about beasts and dragons, only taking up that joyous expedition outdoors if to seek out the Bigfoots and Loch Ness Monsters. He knew the tales of the haunted and depraved as much as he knew tales of the Guardians and their feats.

Hence, when he heard tapping at the bedroom window after midnight, his first instinct after opening his eyes was to remember where the garlic was in the kitchen.

"Hey! Jamie, you awake?"

Oh, vampire bats didn't talk like that, did they? And they probably didn't know his name either.

There was a rap on the glass again, and the sharp hiss - "Jamie?"

Rubbing his eyes, the boy pushed himself off his bed. He sent a bleary gaze in the direction of his snoring sister, who was slumped under the covers of her own bed with Mr. Hops in her arms. Sophie could probably sleep through a marching band.

He slipped on his bedroom slippers before stumbling towards the window, trying to blink himself to consciousness. Pulling aside the curtains, he gawked in astonishment, "Flynn? How are you-"

From what the boy could see, the man was suspended midair outside his window like the protagonist of a spy flick. "Rope. Duh. Now, are you going to let me in?"

The boy undid the latch of the window, pushing aside the glass panel. With an inhale of relief, the man swung himself forward, stepping onto the ledge. Grabbing hold of the window frames, he pulled himself into the bedroom, landing onto the carpet as softly as a cat.

Jamie glanced down critically at the muddy footwear. "You're not supposed to wear shoes into the bedroom."

"Eh, too late for that now." Flynn made an unapologetic shrug as he undid the knots around his waist, then taking the remainder of the rope and coiling it up, dropping it in a neat pile on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" the boy asked, careful to keep his voice low. He didn't need to wake Sophie.

"Today's the day!" Flynn announced triumphantly.

 _"Sssssshh!"_ The boy placed a finger over his own lip, glancing hastily at his still-snoozing sister.

"Sorry." Under the pale moonlight, Jamie noted that Flynn turned crimson at his slip-up. In a much softer tone, he said the same words with equal merriment, "Today's the day! Or, tonight's the day." He pulled a face. "Well, you know what I mean."

Jamie's eyes went as large as saucers. "You're going? Now?"

"There's no better time. All the guys are dead drunk upstairs. By the time they notice, I'll be long gone."

"But-" he scanned Flynn. The man was only carrying a small satchel with him "-that's all you're bringing?"

"I've got the other important stuff stashed elsewhere. But for now, I'm here for the-," he made an exaggerated gesture, "-you know."

It took a while for Jamie to get it. "Oh! That." He cast one last look at Sophie, whose mouth was hanging open and saliva dripping down her chin. He grabbed the torchlight next to his bedside, the same that he used to check for monsters under the bed every night. "This way."

Under the cover of darkness, the two boys – I mean, boy and man – snuck down the corridor, past the master bedroom and the toilet and straight to the kitchen. Having noticed that the door for the former was open and its inhabitant not present, Flynn asked, "Where's Thia?"

"She went out," Jamie answered as they both approached the kitchen counter. He turned on his torchlight. "Not sure why, but she hasn't returned yet."

"Well, let's hope I'll be gone before she does." Flynn glanced over the empty kitchen, then the living room that held an unoccupied couch. "Where's the boy toy?"

The boy gave him a quizzical look as he pulled opened one of the cabinets. "What?"

"The white-haired pansy that Thia sent to me for coloring." Flynn took the torch from Jamie's hands, shining it into shelves for him. "What happened to him?"

"He left yesterday night. He and Tooth got into a fight," Jamie answered as he pulled out the box of corn flour, then another of brown sugar, stacking these on the floor. He scrunched his face up in thought. "What's a boy toy?"

Flynn just snorted in amusement. "Ask Thia. She'd explain it better."

Finally, Jamie brought out the box labelled 'Mother Goose's All-Purpose Flour'. Picking it up, he dropped it on the table. The cardboard lid had already ripped open, so all he needed to do was pull the bag of flour out onto the table. Of course, flour was a messy ingredient to handle, so he told Flynn, "Newspaper.

The man nodded, crossing over to the living room and grabbing the ink-stained pages from the coffee table. Returning to the kitchen-side, he laid the sheets over the kitchen table, making sure that the ends of each page intersected to catch any spillage. Jamie then dropped the box sideways over the newspaper, dragging out the bag of flour onto it.

"So, how much trouble did you guys get into, anyway?" Flynn asked in curiosity as he watched the boy open the flap of the flour bag. He still held the torchlight up, illuminating the table.

"She made us clean up everything everywhere. Even the mess that _you_ made," grumbled Jamie as he stuck his hand into the flour. "You didn't need to splatter the chocolate sauce over the oven, you know. It was such a pain to scrub that off."

Flynn considered this, then shrugged an awkward - "Sorry?"

"What's more, she made me write out the apology that I was to say to you," the boy went on complaining as he dug through the white powdery substance. As predicted, some of the flour came spilling out onto the newspaper, while some of it decided to dance in the air as a merry puff of mist, before settling on the paper too. "I was supposed to rehearse it in front of her, but then she had a fight with Jack, and then he left, and then she left, so I wrote it for nothing."

" _Ooooh_ , that's tough." The man winced sympathetically. "Sorry about that But she didn't work it out?"

It was only then Jamie let himself grin at the man. "Nope."

His nimble small fingers found the smooth plastic under the flour. Pinching his fingers together, Jamie pulled the desired object up to the surface of the powder. The rolls of hundred dollar bills, still safely wrapped in the Ziploc, fell into his flour-covered hands. He presented his loot to Flynn with pride. "She still has no idea."

Flynn grinned back as he took up the bag. "I have taught you well, my young apprentice."

He ruffled the boy's hair, making him beam even more brightly. The man then glanced down at the flour-stained plastic with disapproval. "'Think I'll need a new carrier though."

After they cleared up the spilled flour by wrapping it in newspaper and Flynn found a new bag to carry his plunder, Jamie led the man back to his bedroom, where the latter took up the rope and tied it around his waist again.

"Flynn?" the boy asked, as the man climbed back up the window ledge.

"Yep?" He pushed open the glass pane. Jamie watched as he peered downwards through the window, probably estimating how much he had to abseil down.

"Will you come back?"

Flynn hesitated, his shoulders drooping suddenly. Feeling that aghast that he had put his friend in an uncomfortable position, Jamie hastily added, "You don't need to if you don't want-"

He held up a hand towards the boy, causing him to break off. Every inch sincere, every inch regretful. "I'd really like to take you along with me, kid, but I can't. Not both of you, at least."

Jamie didn't need to follow Flynn's gaze to know that he was looking at the sleeping child embracing the plush bunny. His own face fell. "I know."

Flynn bit his lip as he swung the satchel over his hip, preparing to scale down the wall. Jamie thought that he might just leave right there and then, but then he asked the boy, "How are old are you again?"

"I'll be eleven next fall."

"I'll come back for you guys in six years then," Flynn promised. "That would give time for things to settle, and they'd have probably forgotten about me. That is, if you and Sophie still want to leave."

"Who wouldn't?" Jamie murmured sourly.

"Lots of things can happen in six years, kid. They might change your mind-"

"Not me, they won't," the boy answered firmly. The crack of a bullet and screeching of tires still echoed in the back of his mind. Sophie couldn't remember, but he would. "They can't change me."

Flynn shrugged. "Well, let me know then. Here." Letting one hand go from the rope, he lifted the cover of his satchel, retrieving an item. "Catch."

Jamie would confess that he did startle slightly when he found a book flying towards his face. Nevertheless, his hands came up in time to snatch it from the air before he earned a bruise on his nose.

"Look after this for me, won't you?" With that, Flynn stepped off the ledge, beginning his slippery descent down to the sidewalk of the building.

Jamie gave the book title a look over, before hastily darting to window. "Flynn!"

The one who had been called jerked his head towards the boy, both hands still clenched around the rope.

Jamie held the book out, pointing at the title. "I thought _your_ name was Flynn Rider."

The man just let out a chuckle, giving him a two-fingered salute. "You'll get it someday."

Jamie waited for him to drop down to the pavement before he drew his window shut. Even then, he couldn't tear himself away. The boy continued to watch as the carefree gangster darted down the alley, glancing back and forth every now and then. Flynn moved swiftly and quietly between the buildings, heading out to the backstreet. It was almost like watching the beginning of an adventure film, where the hero would escape the oppressive prison before starting out on an incredible journey about self-discovery and purpose. Jamie knew he wouldn't mind watching a show like that.

But this wasn't a show.

Flynn hadn't even made it three steps onto the main road before a cry of his name was heard. Jamie watched in horror as the car headlights illuminated the man. He could see the rapid movements of Flynn's lips, cursing hard as he fled from the light, but gunfire and hollering followed him.

Jamie could see the large, muscular shadows passing the gap between buildings, guns in hand. He saw that behind the shadows followed a lithe figure, almost hilariously small in comparison, reaching out, pleading something in words he couldn't make out. When the figure turned, Jamie realized that it was Thia herself, and she was saying something, but he had a feeling that the thugs weren't listening.

When her head turned towards the alley, Jamie quickly stepped away from the window, drawing the curtains. She probably couldn't see him from this angle, but he didn't want to risk it anyway. There was no point getting Flynn into any more trouble than he was in now, anyway.

So Jamie hurried over to his bed, hopping in so quickly that he forgot to take off his slippers. He stashed the footwear under the bed, before diving under the covers. He couldn't help the hasty breaths he took as his head hit the pillows, nor could he help the tightening of his chest as he thought of the horrible things they would do to Flynn. Would they pass it off as a mistake? Unlikely. Would they cut off his fingers? Jamie shuddered, hugging the book – Flynn's book - tighter to himself. He really, really hoped not.

From the corner of his vision, he could not help noticing enviously how peaceful his younger sister had been throughout the whole debacle. It wasn't fair that he was all bothered about these problems while she slept away, blissfully unaware. But his parents had taught him well about the price of being the older sibling, so he could only sigh, resigned.

Jamie tucked the book under his pillow, so that Thia wouldn't find it should she come checking on the both of them later. He pressed his face against the fabric, squeezing his eyes, trying to pretend that he didn't hear the rough laughter seeping through the cracks of his window.

* * *

"-the government service won't help because her husband isn't a citizen and they don't have the official papers. The insurance company claims it isn't covered either." The interpreter waited patiently for the woman kneeling in the centre of the room to add more words. "She has a daughter. Just entered College a few months ago. She doesn't know about her father's condition yet. She fears that her daughter would quit studying to pay the bills."

The office of the _Kumicho_ had strict working hours; seven in the morning till seven in the evening. Even then, the _Kumicho's_ presence in the office was dependent on his own commitments and ability – not that Pitch was capable of being anything but the perfect leader for the organization. He had vision, intelligence and a menacing aura that left mighty men quivering in their shoes. People feared him, and because of that, they recognized his power. Surely, if such a fearsome man could be on your side, no one could stand against you.

Too often he had individuals come in the office, groveling for vengeance, or mercy, or both. There was always some boy who wanted a scholarship. Some girl who wanted her cheating boyfriend dead. Some company director who wanted to wipe out their rivals. Burgeshima was far too ridden in corruption and crime for them to achieve their goals via the straight and narrow, but taking it in their own hands was unfeasible. So they came to creator and controller of its disasters – him.

Obviously, it would be impossible for him to process all their requests, so he had a team of administrators familiar with his methods to handle the massive numbers. It freed up his time for lots of things, like going to the theatre, or mingling with his associates, or scaring some high-flying shareholder back in line. Once in a while though, he would actually attend to the sessions. The administrators still did most of the questioning and talking, but there was an unspoken rule about deferring the judgment to him. All the gentlemen and ladies, donning their respectable _kimonos_ and _yukatas_ , kneeled behind the long wooden tables, would turn their heads towards the skulking figure pacing about in the shadowy corner of the office, waiting for a 'yay' or 'nay'. Like a Shogun in the days of Tokugawa, a word from him instantly resulted in gracious gifts, or slow, torturous death.

For most part throughout the interview, Pitch had been standing of the back office window, idly gazing out. The _shiro_ have some of the most magnificent views in the night till dawn, and he liked staring out at the sky over the still-sleeping city. He liked imagining the vastness of the universe in all its wondrous starry splendor crushed in the palms of his hands, with its broken shrapnel then swallowed in the darkness.

As fun as that was, it didn't mean that he wasn't listening. Just as one of the administrators was about to speak, he cut in, his voice no louder than a scratch in the stillness, yet the stillness waited in anticipation for him, "Why come to us?"

All heads had already been turned in his direction after the first syllable left his mouth. Fingers froze themselves over the keyboards, prepared to swing back into action should he elaborate. And elaborate, Pitch did.

"Why come to us, Mrs. Fa, when you can barely speak a word of Japanese, or even English?" He angled his head slightly towards the petitioner, his brows furrowed together. "Why not the Chinese Triads? Wouldn't you be more comfortable seeking help from – how should I put this-" he made show of pondering a suited phrase"– _'your own kind'_?"

Even in translation, the underlying threat was evident. The Chinese woman hesitated as she heard the words, her back was straight yet her head held at a humble incline as she thought out her answer. The eyes in the office darted back to her, coolly assessing her body response long before the verbal one was produced. The pair of golden eyes, however, sought something else.

"The Triads consists of gangsters - greedy hooligans. They don't care about their fellow countrymen," the interpreter translated for the woman. "On the other hand, you, the great _Kumicho_ , have been said to be a person of mercy. You have been known to show compassion to foreigners and local alike."

"Occasionally, I have my moments," Pitch admitted dryly, "but I'm hardly Santa Claus – I don't feed my enemies." The last word was spoken the softest, but yet the iron in it was evident.

This was conveyed to the woman, who swallowed visibly. Her answer spoken in a wobbly tone, one that Pitch could barely hear, and it was subsequently translated, "Our clan would forever be in your debt if you help us."

He didn't answer at once, for he was occupied in his own searching of the woman. He could almost smell the fear reeking of her – and why shouldn't she feel that way? She was in the very heart of Burgeshima's fanatically traditional crime syndicate, graced by the presence of its enigmatic leader, pleading for a cause when she had so little to offer in return. She was a foreigner, dragged into this strange country by her energetic daughter, still not yet accustomed to it ways. She was unused to the natives of this land, yet she did not trust those who born on the same soil as her – not while they carried themselves in such a disgusting manner. Behind all that, Pitch could sense desperation mixed her fear for her husband's illness. Clearly, he was the breadwinner and the only other English-speaking member of the small family.

All very pathetic fears, but genuine enough. He did so despise deceivers.

Turning to one of the associates – which really meant, someone who happened to associate with him and was way, way below his status - he said, "See what you can do for her."

The associate nodded, and the other administrators sprang to life, keying in the notes into their laptops while the interpreter passed the verdict to the woman. She let out a gasp of relief and blabbered her gratitude to him in her dialect, making to ecstatic bows in his direction. The interpreter diligently translated the babble, before Pitch grew tired of it and waved them away.

He made sure that Mrs. Fa was led from the room before he instructed another associate, "Do a thorough background check of their family to see if it's true – including the daughter. It would be very unfortunate for the Fa family if there's even the slightest connection between them and the Triads."

"At once, _Kumicho-sama_ ," the administrator said, folding up the laptop and taking his leave, bowing once after standing up and bowing again before leaving the office. Just as the door was about slide shut, a hand came up to stop it. Pitch, as well as the rest of the committee, turned their head towards it. It was his secretary – well, at least the one that handled his affairs within the Yakuza, not those of personal interests.

"Ter-terribly, sorry, sir," the sheepish woman began, addressing him. Pitch rolled his eyes. Despite her eagerness to work and the diligence in her manner, Bellwether was a stuttering, fumbling clutz of a forty year-old. The only reason why she held the rank that she did with the Yakuza was due to her impeccable academic record, and not to mention she used to be a government official. Such connections were handy from time-to-time. "B-but there's been, er, some d-development-"

"What is it?" he snapped, barely able to keep his teeth from grinding against each other.

"Well,-" the secretary gulped nervously, before saying, "-we've got a bit of a problem upstairs – a discipline problem – and they hope that you'd give an opinion."

Pitch let out a sigh. Well, the line-up for other petitions didn't sound that exciting and he did have a responsibility to handle such affairs. "Oh, very well, then."

He followed the secretary out of the office, down the lantern-lit corridors. Paper o _-fudas_ were hung between the pieces of abstract art bought off the last auction. A whiff of clove could be tasted in the mild incense dancing in the air, matched with the striking of a bell near the windows. It was a strange atmosphere calm despite the scuttling accountants and administrators around him. They were sure to greet their _Kumicho_ with a full bow, before hurrying off to their own duties, not taking a moment to savor the early morning. Of course, quiet reflection was a luxury that perhaps only the Nightmare King himself could afford, and even that was subjected to circumstances.

As the secretary scurried down the wooden boards, glancing back at her boss nervously every three seconds to make sure he was following, Pitch wondered what exactly she was afraid of. He could find out just by diving into her mind, but he didn't really enjoy invading the psyche of the timid. There was no excitement about finding the fears of a fearful person – that would be like giving a gamemaster cheat codes to his niche game.

So he preferred to go about the roundabout route - guessing. Was it his appearance in general that was frightening, or was that matter at hand about potentially upsetting? Did she fear that he would pick her by the collar and toss her out of the window in a fit of temper? Or sentence her to spend a year in the dungeons? All very valid concerns, he supposed, but that was when he was in a bad mood. At this time of the morning, he was just mildly irritated. He would probably just hold her at chokehold against the wall and possibly hit her with something– nothing too drastic.

He was led to one of the prayer rooms. It was their tradition to carry out matters of their brotherhood before a _kamidana_ \- a house shrine. Outsiders might consider their actions sacrilege for carrying such common matters in a sacred place, but in accordance to their Yakuza customs, it was to ensure that in all that they did they would stay accountable to the gods. He could hear the voices speaking through the wooden frame doors, some collected and steely, while others – or one in particular – heated and angry.

Bellwether was about to push the door open for him when he raised a hand towards her, commanding, "Wait."

The pause made no sense to the secretary, but one did not question the Nightmare King, and it was well that Bellwether did not distract him in his task. She was very close to have a porcelain vase slammed over her head.

In some unreachable, undetectable part of his mind, Pitch sensed heightened fear. He had grown familiar with the sensation, for especially in the middle of night where crime was at its peak in Burgeshima. But this sudden peak in fear this in early morning was more localized, much closer to home…

It was actually a storey up. And as an added bonus, there was inkling of cryophobia.

He made no effort to explain himself to the secretary, abruptly tearing himself away from the prayer room. His long black robe trailed behind as he swept down the hall, his stuttering secretary hopping after him in surprise. Of course, the middle-aged woman couldn't keep up, because within seconds he had dissolved himself into a pillar of sand, melded himself with the shadows on the walls. His slithery shade form then darted out of the window, scaling the wooden beams outside the _shiro_ before spilling out into the window above. The shadows stretched themselves out onto the floorboards, making black splotches along the pillars and the wallpaper. The lanterns above shook along with the crooked paper _shide_ hanging from the rafters as the black entity swiveled into them, around them, under them, towards its destination. Those who had been so unfortunate to have the darkness cross their way could only gasp in shock, hands grasping their own chests as if to keep their hearts from bursting out of their ribcages.

The dark sand eventually detached itself from the supports, curling into itself to reform their solid host, who took wary steps down the ice-laced walkway. There was conversation ahead – a mixture of pleas and demands. A familiar chill bit into his pale skin as Pitch headed towards the origin of the argument, noting with mild amusement that the ornaments along the corridor had all gained a layer of frosting. The words became clearer as he got neared the source:

"Please, Miss. Let us-"

"I appreciate the concern," the reserve and control in the voice was one he knew too well. "But any company at this point would only serve as a hindrance and frankly,-" a sharp inhale, a curious mix of frustration and concern "-all of you are in danger, so please _leave me be_."

"But according to protocol, M'am, we can't. It would be too dangerous-"

All tongues fell silent as his shadow, so absolutely devoid of light and hilariously large, fell over them. The aides, shivering in the snow-coated room, immediately placed their hands either by their sides or over their stomachs, bowing to him and greeting _'Kumicho-sama'_. Elsa stood in the centre of the row, her face turning pale at the sight of him. The bow that he received from her was shaky and hesitant, and even when she straightened herself up, she turned her eyes from him, as if ashamed. Considering the entire room, from the paintings to the doors to the curtains, was all coated in ice, he could guess why.

"Alright, what's going on here?" Pitch snapped at the quivering party, then deciding to throw in a jibe. "Other than my daughter destroying the furniture again, I mean."

The plaintive expression he received from Elsa spoke volumes.

The five aides that surrounded their mistress glanced at one another, before one finally had the courage to step forward. " _Kumicho-sama_ , sir, Ms. Black wants to leave the house unescorted. We do not find that wise."

"Well, it's hardly your place to decide what my daughter does or doesn't do," Pitch harshly rebuked to the aide, who winced at the grinding tone. "It's mine."

Each aide quickly took a humble, groveling step back. Pitch's barely paid heed to this, choosing to eye the blonde girl instead. She was dressed to leave, evidently, with her gloves drawn over both hands and a coat draped across her shoulders. It would seem by the hasty knots on her boots and the rumples on her blouse that she was in hurry too. "My question, though, is precisely where you would want to be this early in the morning, and at such urgency too."

"Well, _Father_ ,-" there was a rare note of iron in her tone – oh, wait, this was his lofty, self-righteous snob of a daughter. Such manners were sadly normal "-I would like, very much, to have some time to contemplate my life and my existence, without one of your lackeys following me wherever I go. So, if you would excuse me-" she brushed past him, walking steadily out of the room, frost carpeting her steps.

He stared after her, mouth falling open slightly. Elsa was not prone to tantrums. No, she was too much of a control-freak to let her emotions run wild. In a matter of fact, the only reason why he found this spat of temper alarming was that she hadn't lost hold her powers for the last five years – not extensively, at least. Hadn't they practiced enough?

"Hold a moment!" She made no signs of stopping, so he hurried after her. "You're just going to leave while spewing all -" Pitch gestured wildly at the frozen furniture "- _that_ everywhere?"

He heard her sigh, slowing her steps. He watched her fold her gloved palms into fists, letting out a forceful exhale. On cue, the ice below her feet halted its advance, falling behind as she strode forward. "There. I have it under control. Now will you please leave me alone?"

"Sure," he answered, still following her nonetheless, "if you would take an escort."

There was a strain in her tone, as if she didn't wish to speak at all. "I don't need an escort, Father."

"This is Burgeshima, Elsa," he retorted, continue his pursuit of her down the stairs. "If you think I'm letting you go anywhere without an armed bodyguard-"

 _"I AM A KILLING-MACHINE, FATHER!"_

It wasn't the shower of snow that surprised him, nor that spray of ice that slapped itself on the wallpaper, on the steps and on the palisade. It wasn't even the torrent of wind that knocked him against the wall. It was the fury – the pain in her eyes as she glared at him, breathing heavily.

In a second, it was gone. The wealth of emotions behind those corneas was hastily buried under eleven years' worth of practice, retreating to under the façade of reserve. He could tell that an apology was just on the tip of her tongue, for training in etiquette would tell her that a fervent apology was the least she could do.

But the words that came out were as cold and harsh. "If I am truly as much the monster you keep saying that I am, I shouldn't have any problems looking after myself." Her voice fell to barely a whisper, almost a plea. "Leave me alone, please."

Elsa didn't even look back as she climbed down the remainder of steps, flounced off in a jiffy. He was left gazing after her, wanting to call out to her, to persuade her to explain, but then he checked himself. It would not be becoming for the Nightmare King to chase after his petulant child like some doting father. No, he just simmered in steely rage, a scowl upon his ashen countenance as he watched her descend the flight of steps below his own through the hole of stairway.

"S-sir?"

His contemplations being interrupted was something that he felt incapable of tolerating right now, yet the manner at which he addressed the secretary, who was panting after what must have been a sprint to find him, was surprisingly mild - "Phrase what you want to say in five words or less, Bellwether, and I might not throw you down the stairwell."

The secretary shivering on the snowdrift of the stops gulped audibly. He could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she chose the words, "We need your help, sir?"

"Not the worst pick, I suppose," Pitch murmured after considering her response. Straightening himself back to his full height, he peered down at the shaking secretary. "Why don't you summarize what exactly you need me to decide?"

"Oh, well, you see, sir,-" Bellwether whipped out her phone, swiping the screen for her notes, "-one of the _kumi-in_ was caught stealing. He robbed a foreigner – a visitor - of her motorcycle-"

" _'Her'_?" Pitch interrupted, musing over this. "Did he assault the girl? Or was it a woman?"

"A girl, sir. Around eighteen. He didn't assault her-"

"Then I don't see the problem." Pitch scrapped the ice under his heel with distaste, before taking a step forward, pulling a face as he noted the patterns splattered over the stair. It would take days to clear this up. Thank you, _darling_ daughter.

"Well, the problem is that he wouldn't say why he stole the bike. We can't return it to the girl either, since he claims to have lost it." Bellwether hurried after him, stumbling down the steps. "He was also found to be possession ten thousand dollars in cash. He claims that it is of his own earnings, but has also refused to explain how he got it. Some of the other _kumi-in_ believe that he stole it from them."

That much money in hard cash? Pitch pondered this. Likely theft then. Or acceptance of bribes could be the case. Both were considered offences under Yakuza law, if not done under instruction. "Who exactly is this fellow?"

"Flynn Rider, sir. You might not know him though. He's part of the South city division-"

"I know who he is," he cut in bitterly. Pitch hadn't been keeping track of this one for some time, simply because of busyness, but that didn't mean that he didn't remember.

He recalled too well how ten years ago his daughter had defended the life of her attacker - some boy on the street who had dared to point a gun at the daughter of the Nightmare King. Her eyes had been lit aflame then, and her voice had been raised at him too. It had been a freezing day for the entire _shiro_ till he had finally given in to her demands. And what good had that been? From what he heard about this _kumi-in_ , he was always stirring trouble, falling into fights with his brothers, defying his elders and stealing things he didn't need.

The things he put up with for that ungrateful, cryokinetic minx.

"Break his arm."

The secretary was stunned. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

Pitch grabbed the secretary by the shoulders, his golden eyes burning straight through her own through the glassy frames. Slowly for her to catch every word, he said, "Confiscate the money to pay back the girl he robbed, then break his arm." He let go of her, almost shoving her off her feet. "Perhaps a period of unemployment would let that disrespectful cretin realize how much he depends on the Yakuza. We're not a bloody country club, for crying out loud. It's time that our own stop taking us for granted."

"Right!" The secretary hastily typed her notes out in her phone. "Of course! Thank you so much, sir!" She bowed quickly at him, before hurrying away down the corridor.

Pitch watched her departure uninterestedly, then allowed himself to peer down the stairwell one last time. Elsa would have been long gone by now, and he had no doubt that she would be able to stop the bodyguards from following her while she was a walking fury of ice. She might claim that she despised her position as the Nightmare King's daughter, but she still milked the benefits for all they were worth. Hypocrite.

" _Kumicho-sama!_ Sir!" A new voice called for him from the left hallway. He recognized the fellow to be from the media control department.

He groaned. Could he ever seethe in peace? Growling like a tiger awoken from its slumber - "What is it?"

"There's something on the headlines, sir," the fellow blurted out, his arms trembling as he gesticulated. "Something about Burgeshima."

"Well, why shouldn't there?" Pitch snapped crossly, glaring down the unfortunate underling. "I think my city's worth reporting about as much as any other."

"Yes, sir." The man swallowed before starting again, "But the news – it isn't from any of our stations."

Pitch eyed the administrator challengingly, a brow raised. "What do you mean?"

"The story broadcasted is about an occurrence that happened in Burgeshima, but it wasn't released by an associate station here, sir," the man explained, his anxiety heightening evident by the ascending squeak in his voice. "Moreover, sir, some of the _senpai_ think that you might be interested in what it reports."

Pitch frowned, but he had to admit that he was intrigued. Ah, well, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do right now. "Show me."

* * *

It was just a little after dawn and Burgeshima was still in the gradual process of lifting itself off its bed covers. Some of the more hardworking had already set their wheels to the road and boots to the pavement. But for most part, the city had not fully awakened.

That was good for the white-haired boy, who had at this point of time decided to land himself in an empty alley that smelled vaguely like liquor and cigarettes. He didn't really pay these pungent smells mind, strolling forward to the main road, pressing his staff down on the ground in the tandem with his moving feet.

His blue hoodie was thrown back and his still-colored brown hair danced lightly in the wind. He might have appeared like a happy-go-lucky hobo hopping around with an over-sized walking stick if it wasn't for the frown on his face.

He didn't meet anyone on the way to his destination, even when he passed the subway exit, and for that he was glad. He was not in the mood for being chased down by crazy teenagers or judged by the conservative elders. He stopped himself before the glass door of the dental clinic. The shutters had been drawn up, but the sign on the door read as 'closed'. Indeed, this matched the opening hours etched on the door.

Nevertheless, Jack tried pushing the door, and found that it was unlocked. So he entered the clinic, closing the door behind him and heading to the reception. Files had been stacked neatly alongside each other on the table, and stationary had been fit in their holders, but there was an empty, rolling chair spinning where the spectacle-donning receptionist was to be.

Jack peered disconsolately at the reception desk at first, toying with his staff as he waited. In the background, he could hear the television in the waiting area buzzing the latest news – some kind of interview by the sound of it, _"What do you think this means for Burgeshima?"_

 _"I don't think this is just about Burgeshima anymore, Linda. The impact is going to beyond one city alone. Think about what it means to the Supers community at large. It started with Mr. Incredible and Frozone. They made a comeback, and expanded with new team-mates. I'll admit this could be great. Against weird creatures and strange villains, some Supers are needed. But then the tirade of teenage Supers had to come along. Oh, what can I say about them? They're amateurs. Rookies. Egoistical adolescents taking the whole cosplay notion too far. I can't stand it. Worse of all, some of them_ _bare_ _ill intentions. We all know that too well."_

 _"The San Fransoyko Tragedy."_ Even though he wasn't looking at the screen, Jack could imagine the news anchor nodding his head slowly and regretfully. His eyes were downturned, not because he was staring at the empty desk anymore, but because he was thinking. He could have left yesterday night. He wanted to – fly away to the Himalayas, or the Artic, or Siberia - and let himself dwell on his own regrets and bitterness. Tooth's actions – they still stung, but they weren't entirely her fault. It did hurt, all the same, and he wanted to get away some empty, cold place where the freezing weather would numb his aches.

But then he remembered why he came back in the first place. He didn't want to run anymore.

 _"So is this particular reappearance a boon or bane? I can't say yet. There are too many questions. Was this a prank? Unlikely. Just a fluke of an incident? Possibly. Will the rest of The Guardians return after this? Who can say?"_

Wait, did that television just say…

Jack was about to walk away from the reception desk, which was still unoccupied, to get a better view of the television, but then he felt a vice-like grip snap around his wrist, hanging him back. Before he could protest, he would himself tripping behind the dentist, who dragged them both into the X-ray room and slammed the door shut.

Recovering from the surprise, Jack cleared his throat, ready to recite the sort-of apology that he had prepared earlier this morning, "Look, Tooth, I know that I shouldn't acted so-"

And then she engulfed him in a tight hug.

Jack didn't move, undecided whether to feel miffed or relieved.

When she pulled back, he opened his mouth to speak again, which was a bad idea. It made the following smack across his jaw two-fold more painful.

"OW!" He covered the red mark on his face, gawking at her in

Tooth let out an unsympathetic sniff, putting her hands on her hips. "You're just lucky that Taka was called to hospital services today. He could have recognized you. I'm still worried that he might."

"Who's Taka-" and then the memory of the straight-laced receptionist with the large glasses resurfaced, along with the stoic name-tag. "Oh, 'T. Takaichiho'? He's also one of them?" Jack made a noise of disgust. "Just how many of your associates are working for Pitch?"

"Don't you swing this on me, young man!" Tooth jabbed a finger in his chest. "You're in so much trouble!"

"What did I do-"

But she cut him off before he could finish. "Look, when I thought you said you were leaving, you meant that you were leaving Burgeshima – which was pretty upsetting, but I understood that." Tooth sucked in a breath, then let it out, then went on, "What I didn't know you meant you were just leaving the house, and then you do something as stupid as _that_!" She shoved him hard on the shoulder, almost making him collide into the X-ray machine.

After he had absorbed all this, he gasped out, "What?"

"Well, congratulations!" she spat at him, her aggravation mounting by the second. "Now the whole Ameripan knows you're back in Burgeshima! I'm pretty sure _he'll_ find out soon enough, if he doesn't know already." Behind the acid in her mutterings, there was underlying worry. "Well, at least your hair's still brown. Maybe they won't recognize you. But the staff – no, the staff." She snatched the crooked rod from him, which made him all the more puzzled. "We'll have to hide this. They'll know immediately if they see it. I think Jamie has probably guessed."

Bewildered - "What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you seen it? It's all over the Internet. Every newscaster is playing it – even the ones here." Seeing the question-marks all over his face, the creases over her brow straightened. "You don't know, do you?"

"I don't have a phone, computer or even a TV," he reminded her dryly. "What do you think?"

Tooth whipped out her phone from her work coat pocket, rapidly typing something into the screen. Jack waited by her side, feeling increasingly uneasy with whatever she had to show him.

"Your rescued victims probably thought they were doing you a favor. Of course, they don't know the half of it." She then pressed the device in his hand, hitting the play button.

Jack felt an unnerving chill run down his spine as he watched the hooded figure in the video jump around with the ice-laced staff, striking down the tattooed gangsters one by one, locking them in bindings of ice. When the video ended, it shrunk itself to a corner of the screen, giving him full view of the written commentary, submitted by some person called 'Anna Arendelle'.

 _'Jack Frost Returns!'_ the emblazoned title screamed at him.

He must have lost control over his masseter muscles, because his mouth was hanging open. This couldn't be right. But no matter the number of times he blinked, the articles and its attached video didn't disappear. This wasn't a dream.

"Jack, what are we going to do?"

If he had a more human physiology, Jack might have considered fainting.

* * *

Before the Meiji era, the spiritual beliefs most prominent in Ameripan had been a unique blend of Shintoism and Buddhism, and preservation of these had been considered integral to their way of life. An occasional missionary from Europe was tolerated, but for most part, the Western faiths and the ideologies that they carried with them were barred.

But as time went by and the Western powers began to pressurize the state with their superior weaponry and technological advances to open themselves for trade, and the merchant class began to challenge the feudal system. The Shogunate's will, and the Shogunate itself, crumbled. Thus broke open the flood gates of modernization and mass immigration. People of all walks of life poured into the empire of the rising sun, seeking opportunity and wealth, carrying with their culture, their customs and their faiths. It wasn't long before the spires of churches began to appear alongside those of the wooden eaves over the temples.

Though these establishments once were the centre of all respectable socialization, with the secularization of governance and sciences becoming the dominant body of knowledge, these grand old buildings had its congregations shrinking, especially in the big cities. This was no longer the era of superstition, but the era of progress. Homage to the deities were paid occasionally during the holidays or out of habit, but for most part, they took backseat to the more tangible struggles and needs of the world.

Sometimes though, there would be questions about the obscure – purposes, destiny, morality, identity – that a web search or a self-help book couldn't answer satisfactorily. The pondering individual might then take it upon himself to seek the solution elsewhere, and perhaps that place might be the earthly home of the supposedly divine, where the ancestors before him - or her - found their solace.

"Ms. Elsa? We're here."

It might be unremarkable to see a good Catholic burying her head a Bible on her way to church, but volume in Elsa's hands was no holy book, and in a matter of fact, might not be considered a book at all. Perhaps a better term for it would be a notepad. Or a diary. Or a stack of paper joined stitching on the binder. But let us not delve into the existentialistic concepts of what a book might be or not be, for Elsa certainly didn't care about those when she labelled the notepad, or diary, or stack of paper with stitching on the binder, as the 'Black Book'.

Hah! You might chuckle to yourself. An appropriate title, considering who her father was and all. But it was more than a clever play on words. The Black Book was a dark book indeed, filled with thirteen years' worth of guilt, anguish and frozen tears.

"Ms. Elsa?"

Her head jerked up, gasping at the interruption. Instinctively, she tipped the book towards herself, pressing the pages against her chest so that the driver could not see them.

"Oh, I did not mean to startle you, miss." Kai drew back himself, the hand on the wheel tightening its grip. Even with the glass shield between driver and passenger, she wasn't sure if he would have been protected by a burst of ice if she had released one.

She took a deep breath. _Conceal. Don't feel._

"It's alright," she answered evenly. She glanced out of the window, feeling a tremendous wash of relief at the sight of the neo-gothic façade of the cathedral. "Just wait here for me."

No assistants were there to open the door or roll out a carpet, nor were there any gun-toting guards accompanying her. As far as she could see, there were cars darting around the road, but there's was no one on the walkway. She pushed open the door, sucking in a breath before laying down one foot onto the concrete.

No ice. That was encouraging.

She stepped out of the limousine, closing the door gently behind, still clutching the Black Book under her arm. She gazed up at the steps, the steps that she had climbed on for so many days over the years, in hopes that maybe someone like her too can find salvation.

Elsa ascended the uneven stones, her eyes downwards as she watched for a tell-tale gleam of ice to appear below her boot. Not even a pinch of snow appeared, but she didn't let up her task, not even realizing that she had gone up the full length of stairway till she bumped into the door of the church itself. She lurched back, hissing as she rubbed the fresh bruise on her head. The official hours of the church was seven to eight each day, so the door opened when she turned its knob, allowing her entrance into the hallowed halls.

She had hoped that she would be the earliest here, but by the bent figures at the side aisles and the lit candles, she knew that she wasn't. Elsa kept her head down, walking determinedly through the nave. She was in no mood to tolerate bowing or fleeing in her presence– she might just start a blizzard in the central altar. She hoped that if she moved swiftly enough, no one would recognize her. After all, these clothes were humbler than her usual flashy attire – surely no one would imagine the Nightmare King's daughter to dress so ordinarily.

"Ms. Black?" Oh, no.

She locked her head down, walking forward. Perhaps the person would imagine this to be a mistake.

"Elsa."

She then dared to lift her chin, turning towards the voice. A kind, genial face met hers. Her shoulders relaxed. "Father Pabbie. You got my call?"

The priest was garbed in black cassock nodded, then gazed upon her with concern. "You look troubled."

She could only nod in agreement.

"This way." He laid a steadying hand on her shoulder, gesturing her forward. "We will find a place away from listening ears."

Confessing was one of seven sacraments of the Catholic Church; a method for the faithful to admit their sins and obtain divine mercy. This was often done in the presence of priest, who couldn't grant the mercy himself but offered the more human forgiveness and reconciliation. Confidentiality was of utmost importance, for disclosing the wrongs of any kind was hard enough without some gossip-hungry sneak eavesdropping, so it was often done in a confession booth as per tradition or perhaps just an isolated room for the more modern. A grille screen could be set between the penitent and the priest, one the priest cannot see through, allowing the penitent to hide his identity if he so wished.

But Elsa hid little from Father Pabbie. Outside the staff of the _shiro_ – which itself was only a tiny fraction of the entire Nightmare Yakuza - he was the only one who knew about her powers. She had sought his help as a child and now she sought his help as a woman. There had been torturing thoughts that he had managed to put to rest with his wise words, but as soon as those fled, there were plenty more to take their place.

Given how well they knew each other, the use of the grille and booth was unnecessary. After the priest had closed the door to the confession room, both had taken seats opposite one another. Elsa tried to calm herself, to lie to herself that she was safe. She glanced around the room, praying with all her might that her father hadn't bugged this place. She could only hope that he still had some respect for the sacred.

The confession started with her crossing herself and the priest reading a short verse from the scripture. Once that was done, he told her gently, "At your own time."

It was as if she was a frightened little hare that needed to coaxed carefully from her burrow. But perhaps she was. She was always in the habit of concealing, of hiding herself, even from herself, and confessing was always the opposite of that.

"I-I haven't been a good daughter," Elsa began shakily, twisting the fabric of her gloves together. Her tongue felt heavy, resistant to her attempts to speak. "I've tried to be patient. I've tried to honor him, like the fifth commandment says. But he-I-" she pursed her lips, glancing away.

Father Pabbie nodded encouragingly, but slowly, not wanting to pressure her.

She sighed. "We've never seen eye to eye on a lot of things. When I was seventeen, he wanted me to get the tattoos. I put my foot down on that. I told him that I didn't want any part of the Yakuza. He said okay, then he stabbed the tattooist, gave him lung puncture. Blood spurted everywhere. The old man suffocated to death."

The heel of her palm dug into the cover of the Black Book, trying not to remember that that particular incident was scratched on page thirty-five, row four.

"I know what you said - I can't change him. So I tried to change me. I've tried to make up for not being in the Yakuza, like he wants me to. I tried to be the good girl that I have to be. But I can't." There was a bitter downturn of her lip. "I can't stand how he just tramples over others. How he lords over everyone like a king. How he kills and spares at a whim." Though her skin was pale and cold, she could feel the blood boiling in her veins. "How can I honor someone like that?"

The temperature in the room plummeted abruptly, forcing Elsa to take a moment to steel herself. She noted how the priest subtly planted his feet to the ground. It had happened before - that he was required to leave the confession room while she calmed herself down, more for his own safety than her need for solitude. So he asked, cautious, "Do you need moment?"

She closed her eyes, reciting the stiff mantra over and over in her mind. Releasing a frosty exhale, she opened her eyes, shaking her head. "I can control it. I'm sorry."

So Father Pabbie reclined back in his chair, placing his hands together over his stomach, waiting for her to continue.

"He's not always bad," Elsa acknowledged reluctantly. "Usually, he's kind to me. It's not that he's completely irrational about his 'work' either. I understand why he does what he does the way he does – he has explained it to me more times than I've cared to hear it. It doesn't mean that I agree with it."

One gloved finger rubbed the spine of the Black Book, as if trying to scrub the darkness from the blackened binding.

"I know that despite that, I shouldn't hate him. I should be the better person. As his daughter, I shouldn't-" she couldn't help the slight scoff "- _sin_ against him."

"What is it that you have done, then?" Father Pabbie questioned, his wizened countenance impassive.

There was self-mocking amusement as she spoke, "Well, just this morning, I yelled at him. In the past week, I contemplated killing him five times – nothing substantial-" she hastily added upon seeing the shock in the priest's eyes "-just a passing fancy. I don't think I could actually kill him. He is my father, after all - and it would start a full-fledged gang war."

"Anyway," Elsa went on naming her transgressions, "I've lied to him. Twice. I spoke to him disrespectfully. I cursed at him once, when he couldn't hear me. A-and I stole something." The last sentence was so softly that it was barely audible.

Despite being an old man, Father Pabbie's ears were still as sharp as a canine's. "What did you steal from him?"

"Oh, I didn't steal it from my father. No,-" she shook her head "-but if he knew what I stole - if he knew what I did - he would never forgive me."

"Then what was it that you stole?" the priest pressed her.

"He's the reason why Burgeshima's such a mess, so I just thought that I could make amends for his mistakes," she rambled on, not answering his question. Her eyes were still glued to the Black Book. "That I can make amends for my own."

Sensing that this was sensitive territory, Father Pabbie questioned gently, "Do you think that you have?"

"The first night I did it, I thought that I could," she answered quietly. "I really thought that maybe I could make this work. But yesterday night, I realized-" unintentionally, Elsa felt her eyes welling up with tears.

"Elsa?"

There they were again – the dark thoughts that gnawed her on the inside, plaguing her with bitterness and anguish. Before she could stop herself, she burst out, "What good asking God for forgiveness?"

The priest's eyes went wide at the sacrilegious outcry. "Elsa-"

"I know. I know. To err is human, to forgive is divine," she muttered, almost hatefully. "God might forgive you, but what if-" she hesitated, fighting the flow of words, but losing "-what if people can't forgive you?" There was a tear running down her cheek, its heat feeling like fire against her cool skin. She wiped it away. "What if you can't forgive yourself? Then what's the point?"

The priest sat silent as Elsa fought her own tears, gazing up determinedly, swallowing her sobs. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, then letting it out.

She then looked straight towards the priest, stating quite simply, "I met my sister yesterday night. My birth sister."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Some new Yakuza ranks if you're interested:**

 **Kumi-in: 'Soldiers'. These are usually the bottom rank full-fledged members, and they can do anything from driving a truck to cleaning the floor. I'm not sure if hitman are under this category, so I'm still doing research. Flynn would probably fall under this category. Tooth, being educated and not a full-fledged member, would not.**

 **Senpai: 'Elder' It's quite a broad term for seniors or superiors. Opposite of 'kohai', which is the junior.**

 **Flynn and Jamie are such schemers. I regret nothing about them though. If you can't remember what exactly Jamie got scolded for, see Chapter 6.**

 **For those who caught it the last chapter, the Fa family mentioned in Pitch's POV is from Disney's Mulan. This is more a cameo than anything, because I wanted to use a Chinese family, but if required, Mulan herself might pop in ...60+ chapters down the road.**

 **Bellwether is from** _ **Zootopia**_ **. I just wanted a secretarial character who would cower under Pitch's gaze, so she seemed like the perfect person for it.**

 **All my knowledge about Shintoism and Catholic confessionals is from the Internet. You have no idea how many sites I had to go through to find out how a confession works. Of course, I took liberties with some of the info, so some might be inaccurate. The stuff about Yakuza's carrying out their business before a shrine is made-up, and other stuff might be too. *waves Fiction pass***

 **I've wanted to write a confession scene even since I saw a clip of the one from Marvel's** _ **Daredevil**_ **, though the contents of this confession and that one are very different. What can I say? Elsa makes me think of Daredevil with all her daddy issues– just more regretful and conflicted. And Pabbie? C'mon, don't tell me that priesthood doesn't suit him. He supposed to be wise and stuff.**

 **And as for the cliffhanger ending...Tada! Did you see that coming? Was I awesome enough to get you going '** _ **Oooooh**_ **'? No, not the part about Elsa being Anna's birth sister (c'mon, that was so obvious.) You know, the other part.**

… **If you still don't know what I'm talking about, the next chappie should clear it. No frets.**

 **Up Next: Confession Cont'd and the 'Frost' Phenomenon a.k.a how getting famous in Burgeshima is really inconvenient.**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey y'all! How's it hanging?**

 **So here's the real chapter. I can't regret my prank chapters - I do them once a year, after all.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **For Chapter 9:**

 **JX101: Glad you liked it. I love this chapter a lot, actually, and Chapter 10 too. But yeah, you're scary.**

 **Kobe: Hi! To be honest, Korobe (Rapunzel's town) is named after the city Kobe in Japan, not actually Kobe Bryant. Honest mistake, so don't fret 'bout that. You're actually the first person to mention knowing that the title of this is from a song, so congrats! The Captain America: Civil War is not really an Avengers' flick - it's really Cap. A vs Ironman. Which suits me fine (I love Cap. A! He's such a sweetheart). I do like Star Wars lots, but I'm not very knowledgeable fan of the universe, so I'm too scared to write anything about it. Your ideas are very interesting though, and I wish I did know more about Star Wars. I do think there are some ROTBTFD/ Star Wars AU lying around the fandom, so you can search up if you're interested.**

 **Guest (Mar 29): Aww! Thanks! Glad you liked it.**

 **Chapter 9 & Prank Chapter Reviews:**

 **Archer: I'm glad you really liked this story! There is quite a lot of things happening (thus a lot of things I have to write) and much more to come. I did notice that all the things you mentioned, Rapunzel didn't turn up. Hmm, looks like I better brush up on her story archs. My grammar isn't perfect, but I'm glad you found it mostly acceptable. And to your question for the prank chapter, I answer: hehehehe.**

 **Polar Panda: Thanks for your reviews! I'm glad that you like my 'wrighting' (is this like a quirk of yours? If so,okay.) There aren't many Superhero AUs that take on the full cast of the ROTBTFD, so it's my pleasure to do so (If you like this, try 'The Snow Queen' by Deadlyflames. More Elsa-centric, but still a fun, teenage swinging-around-saving-cats fic). I'm glad you like the story in all its dark grittiness. Sorry about dropping those articles - bad habit. I'm glad you found the April Fool's Chapter somewhat amusing. I think more people should really write such chapters - but *tragically downcast face* it's not easy... Well, thanks for reviewing!**

 **Be back in like two or more weeks. I would love a review if you can drop one.**

 ***proceeds to be crushed by giant review falling from the sky***

 ***groans while stuck under the rubble* *muffled voice* Well, not that way.**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	12. Chpt 11: Soul Searching

"It's prettier than when I last saw it."

It was supposed to be easy. It _was_ easy. Years of practice had given her mastery over the ice, and ploughing through the gymnastic and aikido classes had finally come to be of some use. The hoodlums she had just defeated obviously didn't have much of professional training, and they were certainly no match for her powers. She wasn't used to the ice-crafted staff actually, but it had proved useful as a weapon, increasing her arm's reach and keeping her out of range of her foes' attacks.

But after incapacitating the last of the gangsters, Elsa realized with horror that she recognized the young woman she had just rescued. She could have convinced herself to be mistaken that this girl - with the sprays of freckles over her rosy cheeks, the turquoise eyes that shone with admiration and hero-worship - was just a mirage, a hallucination from loneliness and old heartaches. If it wasn't for the white streak of hair, Elsa could have bluffed herself.

Millions of questions rang in her head. How could this be? What was she doing in the town like this at this time of the night? Most importantly, did she remember? Elsa knew that the black mask covering most of her face should protect her, but what if she recognized the eyes? Those weren't covered.

Spinning abruptly on her heel, Elsa ran down the alley, one hand gripping on the hooked staff while the other tugged the blue hood tighter over her head. It would not do for the latter to fall back and reveal the white-gold braid hidden beneath it.

"Wait! Hold on a moment!" she heard Anna cry. Anna, her birth sister. Anna, who she hadn't seen for the last ten years.

Anna, who she desperately needed to avoid.

Elsa sprinted down the road. Ice danced over the gravel and snow floated down around her, but the evidence of her presence would dissolve once the heat set in. Her feet didn't stop.

"I need to talk to you!"

Elsa entered another alley, a narrower one which would be harder to get through. Geometric shapes intertwined in the spiralling ice covered the walls. Snow laced her steps.

"Please! Stop! My name's Anna! Don't you remember?"

Yes, Anna. Elsa remembered. Elsa also remembered that Anna loved snow; that Anna loved riding her bike down the stairs; that Anna's historical hero was Joan of Arc and sometimes she would spend hours talking to the picture of her that hung in their living room.

Against her better judgement, Elsa's pace slowed, then halted all together, leaving her stranded in the middle of that narrow street with her panting companion.

She heard the shuffling of shoes against the snow, followed by words, heaved out - "We last saw each other at the Black Raven Hotel. Ten years ago."

Elsa was lurched back into a time when the world was much simpler. When they were happy kids and her powers were a source of fun. When accidents hadn't happened and the warnings of parents went unheeded. She was then suddenly tossed into another scene where she was crying on the floor, hugging her knees as blood pooled at her feet, inking her blue dress in crimson. The pierced bodies hung limply off the crooked ice structures like dolls stabbed with a pin, their unfired guns becoming frozen to their arms as the temperature in the hotel corridor continued to fall. It was then that she heard quiet steps, so silent that she could have sworn the walker was floating off the ground. She raised her head, only to sob, "Stay back."

The person stopped approaching her, but footsteps were replaced with a chilling voice, "What kind of monster are you?"

Black Raven Hotel was not a place of good memories.

Against her instincts to flee, Elsa turned around slowly, hesitation marked in every motion. Her hands, cold and bare in the night, clung to the icy staff, and she held it close to her body, as if it was the only thing keeping her standing. Without really meaning to, Elsa lifted her head towards Anna, their eyes inevitably meeting.

She looked so young, actually. With twin braid hanging from her head like that, combined with the smile tucked in the corner of her lip and the glow radiating off her, Anna was still the classic 'innocent, wide-eyed' school girl. It seemed that the darkness in the world had yet to take that from her.

Elsa swallowed, preparing herself to explain. To explain why Anna hadn't known about her powers till now. To explain why she had disappeared after what happened at the Black Raven Hotel. To explain why she had never gone back home, even after their parents' funeral.

But Anna beat her to it. "You saved my life."

At these words, Elsa almost stumbled backwards in disbelief. Before tonight, she hadn't certain had done no such thing for Anna.

Then it hit her. Anna didn't recognize her. Or she did recognize her, but as someone else.

Elsa felt a huge wash of relief. Anna wasn't talking to her. She was talking to the person she thought she was.

She probably could congratulate herself on the disguise then. To be honest, she wasn't sure if the alien boy her father hated so much was a real person. There was so little information about who he was and what he could do, from what she had found in the Nightmare Yakuza's records. Her father barely talked about him actually. All she had as a costume reference was a blurry photo of him poised gracefully on top of a lamp post, balancing himself with crooked staff in his hands.

But now it made sense. Elsa had learned from her father that after the Black Raven Hotel incident, the news channels had called for the arrest of the 'vigilante with ice-powers'. There had been fuzzy photographs of him there too, though he wasn't in his signature attire, save the staff. Though her father had never said it, Elsa had guessed that this 'vigilante' had been helping in rescue operations, and considering that Anna knew him, it was probably true.

Elsa didn't know if she should feel grateful or disappointed.

"You were my hero. Actually, well-" Anna smiled sheepishly "-you've kind of been my hero for the last ten years."

Even though it wasn't actually directed at her, Elsa couldn't help feeling rather stricken at the sound of that word. _Hero._ She might have donned the hood and the mask, but she had never really thought of herself as a hero. Of course, she must have once a hero to Anna, as older sisters were sometimes to the younger ones, but that had been when they were children. Elsa knew she no longer deserved such a title.

Her feelings must have evident on her face, because Anna was quick to change her tone. It was softer, a gentle probe – "It's about my sister, isn't it?"

 _'Yes, Anna, it is about your sister, though not in the way you imagined. Your sister was, and still is, a monster, cursed with terrible powers that could wipe out whole cities. She's a dangerous creature. She had to be kept away from you.'_

"It's not your fault. I know you did your best."

Elsa had to pull her gaze away so that Anna might not catch the glimmer that betrayed the welling of tears in her eyes.

 _'It is my fault, Anna. Nothing can change that. So many people died that day-'_

"The ice-thing, the collapse – I know you didn't mean it."

 _'Does it matter if I did? Those deaths cannot be reversed, Anna. I carry that weight on my shoulders.'_

"It doesn't matter what other people think, because I know the truth. You're a hero."

Anna's voice was so earnest, so completely convinced. Elsa wanted to believe it. But it wasn't true. _'No, Anna. I'm not. Just ask the families that didn't survive the collapse. Just ask the millions watching it on television. I'm not.'_

It almost seemed as Anna had heard her thoughts, because she declared then, "And if people stop believing in you, let them. I'll always believe in you. I always have."

Faithful Anna. Loyal Anna. Foolish Anna.

Elsa couldn't let this go on any longer, not with her powers bursting at the seams. Emotion infected her like wild fire as guilt, shame, sadness and longing all swirled inside her chest – emotions that she had fought hard to lid the last ten years. She had to put an end to all this.

Anna raised a hand towards her – to comfort her, perhaps. But instead, her hand met the newly constructed barrier of ice. Elsa poured her self-disgust and sorrow into the creation, allowing the ice to thicken and frost patterns to run themselves across its surface, turning it almost opaque. She allowed herself to gaze at her sister one last time, before turning her heel, fleeing into the night.

She heard Anna cry out something, but she couldn't look back, lest she actually given in to the gnawing in her heart and actually talk to her sister.

No, Anna couldn't know. That was the only way to protect her. She could never know. Besides, Elizabeth Catherine Arendelle had died ten years ago under the rubble of the Black Raven Hotel. There was only Elsa Black, daughter of the Nightmare King, in her place.

* * *

There was a vacuum of words for a moment as the priest absorbed her tale. He was also looking into the Black Book, with her permission, at the page one, row one.

Elsa wrapped her arms around herself, as if protecting herself from the cold that she made so often. She knew what he read on from that row on: the list of names of the people who died, or at least, the barest description of their appearance should the name be unknown. Alongside this was a column naming the injuries or the cause of death, which ever was relevant, and remarks were occasionally scribbled next to these, such as whether this man was a father, or that woman was a rising entrepreneur, or that little girl hadn't even lost her milk teeth yet.

It wasn't healthy to keep such a record, the priest had told her often enough. It promoted the accumulation of shame rather than repentance. Once deeds were forgiven by God, the slate was supposed to be wiped clean. That was the teaching of the scripture.

The teaching from her father was vastly different, however. He emphasized very strongly on the concept of responsibility throughout her growing years, and since it wouldn't do for the daughter of the Nightmare King to be condemned like a common criminal, he nailed this into her brain by making her remember. As with many things, her father's word was law, so she had no choice but to do as he said.

Finally, the priest lifted his head from the gloomy manual, folding it contemptuously in his wrinkled hands before handing it back to her. "If I were you, my child,-"

"-you would rip this book to shreds and burn the rest to ash," she finished for him, having heard it so often. "I know that, Father Pabbie."

"Well, that's all such a book is good for," he said, his gentle voice sounding unusually grim. "It does nothing but spreads fear in your own heart. You need to let these things go, Elsa."

"But fear keeps other people safe," she answered hollowly, echoing the lessons her father had drilled into her. Elsa flipped open the Black Book once again, turning to the page that the priest had been reading earlier. "Did you read the one about Anna?"

"You wrote that she fell ill with pneumonia after the incident, but recovered fully."

"Not the one after Black Raven Hotel. Before that."

There was puzzlement written on the priest's face. He shook his head. "I didn't realize that there was anything before the Black Raven Hotel."

Elsa glanced back into the notebook, and she understood why. The first sentence was cramped rather untidily at the top of the page, hastily added in only as an afterthought. So she folded the book in her hand and read out to the priest what written there, _"December 2003. Anna Arendelle. Traumatic Brain Injury. Ice-blast to the Head."_ She closed the book, tucking it under her gloved palms. "It was very hard for my parents - my birth parents - to explain to the doctors at the hospital what happened."

"But your sister survived, didn't she?"

"She did, but who's to say I wouldn't have hurt her worst in the future?" Elsa shot back, her nails driven into the sides of the black book. "I certainly did hurt everyone else in this book." She sank back into her chair, suddenly feeling weary of it all.

The priest gazed at her intently for a moment, considering a lecture, but there was none that Elsa had not heard before. He could thank the Nightmare King for his iron-fisted teaching. Father Pabbie made a mental note to add her to his prayer list once again, before deciding to divert the topic to one that was hopefully kinder. "The theft you mentioned earlier – I'm assuming you don't refer to a theft of a physical object."

Elsa nodded, gazing down in shame. "I stole an identity."

With powers like hers, it wasn't difficult to build an entire costume that resembled those she had seen in the yellowed photos. Once a night of 'heroic activites' ended, she merely needed to soak the costume and the ice staff into a tub of hot water and the evidence was all gone. No one would know any better.

"Why steal an identity?" The question was spoken more as an invitation than a probe. "I assume that most … 'Supers', as they call them, are in a habit of creating their own names and costumes?"

She let out a thin smile. "My father is very familiar with my powers. Should there ever be reports of a female vigilante using powers of ice, he would know it's me at once. But if I adopt the guise of his most-hated foe, who also happens to use ice,-"

"-his hatred would blind him to see otherwise," Pabbie guessed, and quite accurately it seemed.

The blonde girl nodded, even rolling her eyes. "My father tends to be rather one-tracked in his thinking. Once he gets hooked on an idea, he doesn't let it up easily."

But Pabbie was concerned. "This decision, Elsa, is it wise? If your father really hates this boy as much as you think, he may pull out all stop to catch him. Imagine what he would do if he caught you instead."

"Well, he could try, but he'll be just chasing his own shadow." Elsa sounded oddly confident for her usually reticent self. "I'd just lay low till the rumors die down. Besides, it isn't as if the real Jack Frost, whoever he is, would ever return to Burgeshima."

* * *

He stayed locked up in the dental clinic's X-ray room for about two hours. Being completely bored, he decided to read the manual on how to actually use the huge machine. Despite having not actually touched a book for the last year, it didn't take him long to finish it and Jack was actually prepared to switch on the machine and x-ray his teeth for the kicks of it (he didn't really need a scan with perfect teeth) when the door suddenly burst open.

Tooth marched in like a woman with a mission, and indeed she was one. Shutting the door and locking it behind her, she threw a set of clothes at him. "Change. Now."

He stared down at the garments. Unlike his usual casual throw-ons, these were all stiff, starched formal business attire, newly-bought save one piece - a doctor's coat like Tooth's. "What's all this?"

"Under no circumstances should you be seen in a hoodie," she told him firmly. "To play it safe, we're going to change the entire attitude of your dress." On her arm, he noticed there hung a paper bag, where she drew out a large cardboard box. "That includes shoes."

"But I don't wear shoes," Jack complained, jerking his chin against his evidently bare soles.

"Which is why we're changing that."

"Pitch isn't going to recognize me by my feet."

"Just wear the shoes, Jack!"

So Jack reluctantly discarded his comfortable, well-worn blue hoodie and brown leggings for the characterless attire that Tooth had prescribed for him. Of course, half-way through the changing the dentist realized that she shouldn't be watching this and blushingly excused herself from the X-ray room, to which Jack just raised a brow at and shrugged. He considered hiding the leather shoes up in the air vent, but decided that Tooth would probably never let him leave the clinic if he did. So, with a grudging heart, the socks and shoes went over his calloused feet. The tie went around his neck, his shirt was tucked into his pants and the doctor's coat came on last. The coat fit him surprisingly well actually, as if it had been tailored to his thin shoulders.

When Tooth came back (she knocked first to make sure that he was modestly-covered before she re-entered the room), she was carrying two small items in her hands. She held them out to pass them to him, but before she explained what they were for, she suddenly drew back, eyes wide.

"What?" Jack was slightly alarmed at her expression. She didn't answer immediately, which prompted him to ask again, "Tooth?"

She took a step towards him, almost reverent, almost sad. "You don't look like a boy in this."

He scrunched his face up in bewilderment. "So I look like a girl?"

She actually smiled at him the way she used to long ago. "No, I meant that you actually look grown-up."

"Oh." He gazed down awkwardly at the stuffy clothes, his dislike for them lessening considerably.

Snapping out of the daze, Tooth handed one of the items to him. "Put this on."

"Hair wax?" He eyed the jar of ointment with distaste. He had no great love for it, for it reminded him of the suffocating days that he had once spent working in an office. He had few regrets leaving that job; one regret being the coffee machine that made free hot chocolate – that was awesome. "Ew, no. You could make me dye it, but no way I'm waxing my hair. "

"Your hair is your most prominent feature, Jack," she told him. "I can recognize you a mile away just by your hair."

"I hide under the hood most of the time," Jack tried to excuse himself.

"Well, you're not wearing a hoodie now, are you?"

So the gooey cream went to flattening out his tufts. Jack pulled a face after he peered at himself through Tooth's phone camera.

"I look like a nerd," he told Tooth unhappily.

"Well, then this should nail it." She passed him a pair of glasses. "Took them off Taka. His eye degree is quite low."

The boy sighed as he folded the spectacles and slid them over his nose. Squinting through the lens, he commented dryly, "Are you sure your receptionist doesn't just wear dud glasses? I can see through these fine and I've got perfect eye-sight."

"Well, your eye-ball shape is different from ours." Tooth remained unperturbed with his remarks. "Stop fussing about this. It's your fault, you know."

"It _isn't_ my fault," he contradicted, clearly annoyed as he readjusted the glasses. They were obviously not made for his head shape, but hopefully no one would notice. "I told you. There's someone running around and pretending to be me. I have to find out who."

"Oh, no. You'll be doing no such thing," Tooth disagreed as she noticed the clumsy knot that his tie was. She undid it without asking, so Jack had no choice but to sit back and listen to her lecture while she retied the fabric around his neck. "Once nightfall hits, you'll fly out of this city. For your sake, Jack, don't come back."

"I'm not leaving," the boy insisted, folding his arms.

"Didn't you hear what I said the first time?" The frustration in Tooth's tone matched how the forcefulness in her tightening of the tie, almost causing him to choke. Jack was quick to loosen it once she let go. "All of Ameripan knows you're here. _He_ knows you're here. He's still out for your blood, you know."

Jack arched a brow at her as he straightened out the tie. "Does he actually talk about it? Like 'I want to find that Jack Frost and roast that icicle on a barbeque' kind of talk-about-it?" He made a scornful huff. "Cliché villain much."

"He doesn't actually … _talk_ about it," Tooth admitted, stepping back to scan his attire. The shrug she gave told him that the disguise was adequate. "I just know he thinks that way."

"How? Like instinct, or-" he raised his head sharply at her "-you read his mind?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. Unabashedly, Jack met them with equal steel.

Finally, Tooth spoke, as if not hearing what he had said, "Leave by the back door and go to my apartment. Here're the keys." She pressed them into his unwilling hands. "Draw all curtains. Don't talk to anyone. Don't meet anyone's eyes. Jamie's has Judo classes and Sophie's at childcare, but if you do run into them,-" she hesitated "- deny everything."

Jack shook his head. "Jamie's not stupid, Tooth. He's seen the staff and the white hair. I'm inside one of his books, for goodness sake."

"This isn't just about you, Jack," she hissed, grabbing him by the shoulders to get his attention. Her violet eyes darted about anxiously, as she feared that this very room was not all that safe. In a lower tone, she said in utter seriousness, "Even though he hasn't gotten his tattoos get, Jamie's as good as a Nightmare. One day, he will join the Yakuza. By that time, you would have probably fled Burgeshima, but Jamie will put the pieces together, and he'll realize that there's only one female member in the Guardians." It was only then that she let go of him.

Jack didn't seem deterred by this. "Well, what's wrong with that? You trust him, don't you?"

"Pitch breaks easily into young minds, and I don't want him to carry this burden." She sighed, before pleading, "Just do this for me, Jack."

It wasn't as if he had much of a choice.

The final conundrum was the staff itself. Tooth wanted him to leave it with her, so that she could find another way to smuggle it out after work, but Jack wanted to keep it with him, partly to side with caution, partly because he didn't like parting with it.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Tooth demanded impatiently, arms akimbo.

He suggested disguising it at a broom. She shot that down – _'Not in a business suit, you won't.' 'Then why didn't you buy me a cleaner's clothes then?' 'Well, I didn't think of it at that time! Besides, cleaners usually wear some kind of uniform - which isn't sold at your local mall, FYI.'_

So Tooth won. Jack was forced out of the clinic backdoor dressed in his awful, smart clothes and without his staff while she hurried off to address the mounting number of patients in the waiting room. He still thought there was nothing wrong with a businessman carrying a broom, but deciding that he had struck her ire twice in the last twenty-four hours – though one of those times was not his fault at all – so he let her have it this round.

He made his way out the alley behind the clinic out to the main road. The working crowd had emerged from the train station and far too easily, he disappeared amongst the pastel shirts and dark pants.

Of course, a pair of keen eyes behind the wheel of a silver Mustang made him out quickly enough. The car was stopped along the road, presumably waiting with others for the traffic light to flash green.

Through the mouthpiece hanging off her ear, the driver murmured, "It's him."

"Are you sure of it?"

"He enters with one appearance and leaves with another," she described wryly. "It's pretty obvious he has something to hide."

 _"Continue to observe for now, but do not confront."_

"Yes, sir."

The call ended just as the traffic lights changed colours, and the driver stepped onto the pedal, her own ride disappearing into the swarm of vehicles.

* * *

It's funny how often nightmares are relegated to the realm of children.

When children wake up with a shot of night terrors, parents would hurry in and give them comforting hugs, wiping their eyes dry and promising them that _'it was all just a dream, there, there'_. Soft toys would be stationed by the bedposts as guards and nightlights held out its luminous arms to protect sleeping children from the reach of shadows. Most importantly, parents crossed their hearts that they were only a few rooms down, and no matter how great the monster, their parents were stronger still and would protect them no matter what.

When you're seventeen, you're supposed to be independent and mature enough to handle your demons without parental guidance or protection. It sucked.

Merida groggily rolled herself off the supposedly-orthopaedic bed and dragged herself out of her room. She could hear the television playing from the sitting room, so that meant that her P.A. was probably here. Maudie had a habit of coming to work early – probably to use the free coffee machine and order breakfast into the suite. It was all paid by company budget, so Merida didn't really grudge her for stretching the benefits.

Nice, genteel high society ladies probably slept and woke in dainty, fashion-branded lingerie designed to appear fabulous even in darkness, but Merida was more inclined to wear her underused collection of football jerseys and matching shorts. She used to don nothing but those when she was younger, but after her mother swung full on into the 'makeover' mode, she could only wear them out of public sight. Anyway, no amount of fancy nightgowns was going to improve her appearance in this state. Nightmares had never treated her looks well, nor her temper either.

She crossed the corridor and went straight for toilet door. Closing the door behind her, Merida headed straight for the sink first to splash herself awake. Her mother had once told her something about it being bad for her skin if she just cleaned it with only water and not soap, but she was too sluggish to remember the instructions. So she shrugged them off, rubbing her face roughly against her towel.

Pausing the abrasion-inducing drying of her ruddy countenance, she squinted through the mirror at the red clump hanging off her scalp and groaned. She had forgotten to dry her hair yesterday night before sleeping. She had been so exhausted from being polite to people who were subtly insulting her that she had crashed immediately after bathing. Now, those curls had taken vengeance by knotting themselves in the most complicated manner possible. If it had been up to her, Merida would have never bothered to trying brushing it out. But, of course, it wasn't up to her.

After wrestling with her hair with a brush for a good five minutes or so, Merida threw her hands up in defeat. She yanked open the toilet door and stomped out, marching straight to the living room where television was buzzing alive. She noted that the shape of a figure sitting one of the armchairs, who was undoubtedly the P.A.. Announcing herself with the dragging of her bedroom slippers against the carpet, Merida called out to her, "Maudie, I need your help. My hair's all tangled up."

"Well, I have to admit the last time I've brushed long hair was when I was in kindergarten. Some girl made me play Barbie dolls with her. It was surprisingly fun." The candid voice that answered was not Maudie, but still familiar.

Merida rubbed the crust out of her eyes and took a good look at the figure hunched in the armchair. Then, she jumped backwards, swearing at the top of her lungs.

"I honestly hope you don't know what that means." The unexpected visitor seemed quite unbothered by her reaction, continuing calmly to type something into the tablet rested over his knee.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, pointing her hairbrush at him. Her eyes quickly scanned the living room, then the kitchen adjacent. There was no P.A. present. "And where's Maudie?"

Unruffled by her unremarkable weapon, her so-called-companion-but-really-babysitter answered calmly, "I came early and met your personal assistant. She seemed terribly distressed - on the verge of having anxiety attacks, really. It seemed like all this work was stressing her out, so I suggested she take a break."

"A break?" Merida repeated, aghast. "You gave Maudie a break? Without asking me?"

"From what I understood, she had been working non-stop for the last six days," he continued mildly as he typed into his tablet. "The 'Day of Rest' statute states that all employees to one day off from in seven calendar days. It wouldn't do for us to break the law, would it?"

"Fine then." Merida furrowed her brows at him. "But without Maudie, how am I supposed to know what to do?" She didn't like to think herself as helpless, but her P.A. was the one who handled all her schedules, calls and meetings. Without her, Merida was absolutely clueless – about her non-vigilante life, at least.

He just shrugged. "I guess that's my job for today."

"You? Well, well." She lowered hairbrush, feeling slightly unsure about this prospect. She certainly enjoyed Hans' company more than Maudie's, but she was still feeling like rather sore about having to suffer at the party alone the night before. Knight had been probably gobbling up the whole 13 case like a T-rex gobbling up cattle, and she hadn't been able to move an inch out of the ballroom without someone dragging her back in for some snob-sap of small talk. "Sure is _nice_ of you to turn up after ditching me at the 'party'."

He paused his work to gaze up at her, almost a twinkle of amusement in his eye. "Was it honestly so bad?"

"It was horrible," Merida told him out flat, flopping down onto the couch near his. "Everyone kept talking down to me like I was an idiot." Her face scrunched into an ugly scowl. "Just because I don't know business jargon doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"Ah, the wonderful world of jargon." A mocking smile appeared on Hans' face. "I had to memorize whole law dictionaries when I was a student. Otherwise, I wouldn't understand anything my professors said. The funny thing is that the language often becomes so-" he floundered about for the right word "- _specialized_ such that people on the outside can't understand it. Rather ironic for law, since those people are the ones who need the most protection." He let out a scoff that sounded rather bitter for his usually placid self. "Sorry for leaving you alone with those monsters. Sometimes I forget how terrifying high society can be."

"I'm not terrified of high society," Merida snapped back immediately. And she really wasn't. Really. Definitely.

Okay, maybe she had some nightmares about ripping her dress in the middle some high-flyers party. It was excruciating. But those stuck-up snobs were hardly monsters. Not like the kinds she had fought at night – and she didn't mean in her sleep.

"Well, you should be." Again, there was that coldness in his tone. He had stopped typing on his tablet, his head lifted towards the television, but he didn't seem to be watching the program. It was like he was staring at some invisible vision along the wallpaper, really. "Rich people are powerful people. So many individuals clustered together in a huddle of wealth essentially create a powerhouse that can do anything it wants. There are no restrictions they can't pay away, and there's no one else to stop then – law or no law. If that isn't terrifying, I don't know what is."

Merida blinked. "Wow. I never thought of it that way before."

He nodded, resuming his work. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"You don't like high society much, do you?" Merida leaned back into the couch, sticking her feet on top of the coffee table. If her mother were here, she'd tap her smartly on the knee and tell her to put her legs down. Such an unladylike manner before a guest, indeed! But her mother wasn't here to tell her off, nor was Maudie. Hans had already seen with her with a football jersey and unbrushed hair. One more unladylike thing wouldn't make a difference. "Then why do you hang out so much in it?"

"The same reason you do." His lips twisted into a thin smile. "Crime of birth."

"Huh." It seemed strange to think of Hans as a reluctant member in the upper class. Merida had seen him in action with others before, so she knew that he was comfortable with small talk and fine manners in ways that she never could be. He was such a perfect gentleman that she wondered if he had been genetically engineered to be that way – his family was rich enough, weren't they? Sometimes she was tempted to throw something at him to see if he'd snap.

But perhaps it took a perfect gentleman to realize how pretentious and superficial everyone else was.

"So, BS, what are we going to do today?" Merida asked, slumped against the sofa. There was a cushion lying next to her, so she picked it up and hugged it.

His brows creased together. "BS?"

"Short for 'Baby-Sitter'," she explained, peering curiously at the television. There seemed to be some discussion about Supers going on. She just scoffed at those. Didn't TV ever have anything better to report?

"Oh, because it sounds like - " he didn't finish, because fine gentleman didn't say such words.

But not being a fine lady, she didn't care. "Bull-shit? That's the point."

He spun towards her, considering her carefully. The thoughtful countenance transformed into an expression of intrigue and admiration. "Touché."

Merida beamed proudly back.

"Alright." He flattened out the stand of his tablet, folding the cover over the screen. "Go clean yourself up and get dressed. Have you had a tour of the city yet?"

Merida thought hard for a moment. There was this little drive that she had been taken on around Burgeshima on the first day she was here, but she fell asleep for the whole of that. "Nah, not really."

"Then I guess we'll have to fix that," Hans mused. "Oh, you have to dress up in a tight-fitting dress with a train five feet long plus stilettoes." Seeing the horrified look on her face, he grinned. "Kidding. Wear anything you like. Even that-" jerking his chin at the jersey "-if you want. Comfortable shoes though. There's a lot of walking where we're going."

After three days of being pampered to excessiveness, she appreciated some leg work – in proper shoes. "Okay."

As Merida scrambled off to her room to change, the redheaded gentleman grabbed the controller and switched the television off. Slipping his tablet into his briefcase, he pulled the phone out of his pocket to check for any updates on work. Apparently not, because with his client having mysteriously 'disappeared', the amount of paperwork he needed to do was abruptly halved. Well, silver linings on some very dark clouds.

A notification that popped up on his screen informed him that Anna had just shared something on her Chitter account. His finger hovered over the statement, wondering if he should read it now. He did promise that he would read and 'like' everything she posted it. This kind of approval seemed pretty important to her, after all.

In the end, he removed the notification from the screen and replaced his phone in the pocket. When he had time later, he would read it. But one thing at a time – or rather, one girl at a time.

It was a pity he thought that way. He might have been able to provide a potentially very important warning our young reporters from Arenashi, but we'll get to that later.

* * *

 _"Hiccup, are you in a secure area?"_

The boy with the black leather mask over his face found it too stuffy to be in full headgear at the moment. So he pulled the flap of his helmet up, exposing himself to the dust particles floating in the air and the stench. The room was barren as can be, having had its all its furniture removed before the renovation process had started. Hiccup noted to himself that the construction agency that did it was quite professional. After all, he had barely recognized the room himself when he compared it to the photograph he kept in his PDA.

Of course, the current owner of the flat had no choice but to resort to splurge on excessive refurbishment for the entire house. It was difficult enough trying to sell the three-storey town house when it looked as haunted as everyone thought it was. When Hiccup had landed on its roof, he had noted that there were many decorated streamers hung along the porch and as well as little tokens with O-fudas thrown through the windows, all to ward away evil spirits. It had been on sale for the last nine months, and still no offers.

Well, Hiccup had been there for the last two hours, and honestly, he didn't mind a ghost or two if it'd make his work easier. Then he wouldn't need to undergo the painful, tedious task of removing all the wall paint from what used to be the lounge room. He could just ask the undead some questions and be on his way.

From what he had read from the files, this building had, in the past, been owned by a small gang of drug-runners. Their numbers had been few, but they had strong allies – the Nightmare Yakuza itself, for one. Their leader was said to have been on good terms with the Nightmare King himself. Some say that they both were war veterans for the old empire.

Well, nine months ago, this entire gang was completely annihilated in this very building; all thirty members from the leader at the highest to the serving boy at the lowest. They had been gathered for something – a meeting perhaps, or a celebration of successful sales – when someone had crashed the party with toxic intentions.

The gangsters had been all killed by carbon monoxide poisoning. It was suggested in the police notes that it had been from a gas leak. The strange thing was that the police had found all the doors and windows unlocked, so it wasn't like escape hadn't been an option for victims. Blood tests showed that none of the gang members had been drugged such that they couldn't fight for their lives either. There were horrific pictures of purple-faced bodies sprawled on the ground with towels pressed against their mouth and noses, clawing towards openings of air. Their bleeding fingers and the scratches on the doors were indication that they had tried desperately to save themselves. There was even evidence of the gunshots attempted, but somehow all the bullets managed to hit everything but the glass of the windows.

Bad luck, people had judged grimly. Bad luck onto those who had wronged and exploited others.

But Hiccup had a hunch that 'bad luck' had a push in the right direction - no points for guessing who's to blame. He wasn't the only one. After all, the police had listed the case under '13' for a reason.

Pausing from his not-at-all-entertaining task, Hiccup glanced to his around him. The black furry feline on the floor was examining the floorboards, as if silently passing his judgement on their condition. Other than the lazy mammal, Hiccup was very much alone.

"Yep," he answered through the communicator, as he continued hacking away the paint. From the pictures of the murder case – or rather, the massacre case, he had spotted there seemed to be some kind of graffiti drawn on the side of the wall, but the camera taking the photo had been angled such that the scrawled figures could not be read at all. There was a transcript of what the graffiti had said in the police notes, stating quite succinctly 'CHOKE YOURSELVES', but it seemed far too short compared to the scrawl in the photo. There was something missing from all this. "Really, really secure."

 _"Okay."_ There was a worried note in Fishleg's voice. _"Well, you've got a call from San Fransokyo, and from what I understand, it's going take quite long. If you don't want it, I can take it for you."_

Hiccup flicked the dried paint flakes onto the floor, before replying, "Nah, I'll take it. If Hiro sends any notes over, get him to forward it."

 _"Got it."_ Fishlegs sounded very relieved. He didn't like communicating with 'strangers' much.

While Hiccup's own identity was known amongst the San Fransoykian heroes, those of his team were not (it was his idea. Astrid was opposed to this, but he vetoed her. He might still be suffering bruises from that day). In return, Hiro was allowed to shield the identities of his fellow members on the Big Hero 6. It was probably not all that difficult for them find out about one another, given their talents, but respect for privacy was adhered to, so it was all masks for the 'sidekicks'.

That's said, the Big Hero 6 never tried to disguise their voices, which really, really bothered Hiccup. Didn't it worry them that someday a Supervillain might record their voices and use that to track them down?

There was a fizzle of static as Fishlegs opened the new line and - _"HEEEEEYYY HIIICCCCCUUUPPPP!"_

Hiccup let out a cry of pain as the blare slammed his ear drums. He reached a hand towards his helmet, adjusting the volume in the communicator accordingly. The female voice and the squealing was recognizable enough, so, with his head still ringing, he greeted with much less enthusiasm, "Oh, hey, Kamikaze." He winced as the feedback of his voice buzzed back to his smarting ears. "I heard that you guys have some news to pass along."

 _"Yep!"_ The girl seemed to never run out of excitement and energy, very much unlike the other female hero in her team who never got excited about anything. _"Anyway, I've been working with the forensic pathologists to determine the cause of death for Alistair Krei and Hiro said that I should update you and your team about the findings."_

Hiccup scrubbed the blade of his scraping knife hard against the dried paint. Some part of the blackened wall had already been revealed, so it shouldn't be long till he was done. "Fire away." The cat looked up from the floor expectantly, so he told him, "Not you, bud."

 _"Okay."_ He could hear some tapping as Kamikaze hammered on some touch-screen, probably pulling out her own notes _. "A combination of different scans from Bay- um, RONIN revealed broken bones, fractured skull, cracked ribs and so forth to be present in Krei's body. These expected to be caused by during the collapse of the Krei Tech HQ building. There's also lots of burned skin and bruises, also expected from the explosion. However, more examination reveaedl that there are huge punctures around his torso made prior to the skeletal damage. The pathologist is still trying to piece the rest of his body together to get a clearer view."_

"Uh-huh." Half of the words that she blabbed went straight over his head. Fortunately, all exchanges that occurred via communicator were automatically turned into verbal transcript, which was saved in one of the dozen digital clouds that Fishlegs had under his thumb. For double the caution, Fishlegs was actually silently listening to the conversation right now, prepared to write out additional notes or amend mistakes that that the program made.

 _"The pathologist and I still have disagreements about the weapon used – he thinks it's a sword, I think it's a knife – but both of us agree that these wounds caused Krei's death, not the bomb blast."_ The cheeriness in her tone seemed to have dried out, only soberness replacing it. _"The good news is that we've confirmed that he was the target. The bad news is that we have no idea what the bomb blast was for actually."_

"Okay. Wow. I didn't actually expect that," Hiccup confessed as he tried to peeling of the next chunk of paint. This part lifted itself off the old layer easily, and, digging his fingers under the dirt, he managed to pry off a huge sheet of dried paint. This sheet quickly crumbled, turning into a shower of dust over Toothless' head. The feline shrieked at the unwelcome pattering of dirt, scrambling to a safer, cleaner part of the room. "Oh, sorry, bud." Back to Kamikaze, Hiccup asked, "Anything else?"

 _"Well, one strange thing that none of us can figure out – and by 'us' I mean both the Big Hero 6 and the whole coroner's team. All of us can't work it out.'"_

"Well, what is it?" Hiccup moved himself slightly to the right, stabbing the butt of the handle of the knife against the wall. More of the dried paint crumbled to his feet, and more the black stains beneath it were uncovered.

 _"Well, how do I say this…"_ By the grating feedback he was getting in his ear, he could tell that Kamikaze was twisting the coils of her headphones as she thought. He wished fervently that she wouldn't do that – his ears were suffering enough. _"Okay, well, Krei's kinda missing his … eyes."_

Hiccup had to pause his work upon hearing this very bizarre piece of news. "Sorry, what did you say?"

 _"He's missing his eyeballs. Both of them. It was like they were yanked out of their sockets or something. Brrrh!"_ He heard her make a shudder. _"We're still not sure if this was before or after he was killed."_

"His eyeballs?" Hiccup had been a witness of many strange things, including exploding eggs, two-headed dragons and singing supper, but missing eyeballs somehow never made it to the list.

 _"Yeah. It still freaks me out."_ He could hear her teeth chattering on the other side, her voice becoming more high-pitched than usual. _"There's more, actually. From the scans that RONIN did, it seemed that the skin around his eye-sockets were bluish-white, with damage reaching down into the muscles, tendon and bone in his head. The pathologist said it's third-degree frostbite. That's the only reason why the sockets didn't bleed as much as they should have."_

"Frost-bite," Hiccup echoed slowly. His mind immediately linked the word back to that video he saw this morning – the one about some guy from The Guardians returning to Burgeshima. Some guy with ice-powers.

It's a bit too much of a coincidence that this guy appeared just as 13 disappeared, wasn't it?

Kamikaze must have been thinking along the same lines as him, because she said then, _"After I told Hiro about this, he told me to tell you at once. Might help in the case."_

It didn't. Not really. Instead of getting answers, there were only more questions, cluttering up the already cluttered case. All these new clues and findings only served so make his head ache even more. All the same, more information was better than less. "It might. Thanks Kamikaze."

 _"No probs, Hiccup. I'll keep you updated if I find anything new. GOOOOODDDD LUCCKKK!"_

With that, the deafening call ended. Hiccup waited for Fishlegs to put himself back online, but not hearing anything from his team tech support, he figured that the other boy was probably examining new evidence that the BH6 had sent over, or maybe editing the transcripts. The computer nerd was sometimes annoyingly anal about these things, but meticulousness was a trait proved to be more useful than not, so Hiccup never prodded Fishlegs to change his ways.

Hiccup continued brushing and hacking off the flakes of paint on the wall, revealing more and more of the black smudges. Once he had decided that he had done enough, he slapped the dust off his hands and took several steps away from the wall. Turning around, he took a good look at the scrawls smudged on its surface.

Then he realized that why the police report recorded only that short phrase.

Because seriously, that was the only things legible in the whole mess that he saw on the walls. There were random black squiggles surrounding the merciless two words – 'CHOKE YOURSELVES' – but they were seemed to just be random splotches of ink. At most, all the squiggles were just decorative.

That's it. He had just spent all this time scrapping the wall for nothing.

"Well, that was a remarkable waste of time," he told the Bombay cat, who was still trying to lick the dust off its fur. Toothless let out a grunt, seeming to saying that he thought that this whole things was a just dreadful bother and not at all that remarkable.

Deciding that he might at least get a photo out of it, Hiccup took a few at different angles with his PDA, then slid the device back into his belt. He then tapped the communicator against the side of his helmet to open the line again. "Fishlegs, this recon was a dead end. I'll probably move on to the next address."

He didn't get a reply, but he guessed that the boy must have been busy on his own side, so Hiccup didn't worry too much over it. He drew his helmet over his face, then called to the cat, "Toothless, let's go."

* * *

Their bus seats were 'economy class', which meant that they were hard and rather uncomfortable. Moreover, it wasn't a quiet bus, so there was a radio playing from the front along with endless chatter surrounding all of them. There even was a tinge of tobacco in the air from some unapologetic flouter of the no-smoke sign.

Usually, these things didn't bother Anna. She had probably taken exactly the same bus from Arenashi to Burgeshima just four days ago, but she had been a bundle of excitement at that point of time, so keen and sure that she'd 'nail that story'. She did achieve her goal, though not in the way she had expected, but it was still good all the same. Her mentor had called her to congratulate her on the find. Every second, the number of views and reposts of her article shot up. Kristoff's video was all over the news channels and social media. They were making a name for themselves just six months into their internship. If that wasn't scholarship material, she didn't know what was.

But inside her heart, Anna felt only the keenest of dissatisfaction. It might be due to exhaustion – after all, she and Kristoff had stayed up till three in the morning to clean up their news pieces together and had to wake up at two hours later to catch the bus back home. But Kristoff hadn't been too fussed about this – he had slumped into slumber land the minute they board the vehicle. She had been mildly entertained by his snores for the last few hours, caught up in her own unhappy wakefulness.

Anna glanced down at her phone, which told her quite blandly that she had no new notifications. She wasn't sure what she was looking for – another like to her post? Another comment on the article? Another fangirl like her squealing about the return of Jack Frost and possibly the Guardians?

Anna had been so sure that she was more than just a fangirl. She prided herself in being more than a blind follower of trends and fancies. She was a committed supporter – a believer, if you will. She didn't just like the idea of Supers and thought that costumes were cool. She had known what it was to be afraid, and she had known what it was to be saved. She knew the nobility of heroes. She had a connection with them. With one of them.

Who ran away from her. It was like the very sight of her pained him.

She buried her phone in her little backpack, sinking back into the plastic chair. She glanced to her right and was irritated to find that Kristoff was still hugging his duffle bag, peacefully asleep. Why couldn't he be as troubled as she was? It was tempting to try kicking him awake. Deciding not to be so cruel, Anna crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, trying very hard to get her much needed rest despite the tumult in her mind.

She shouldn't have bothered, because she was jerked awake the very next second. Literally, because the bus had jerked itself to a halt.

When Anna reopened eyes, the bus was already abuzz with puzzlement. Other passengers glanced out of their window, remarking repetitively that the open farm fields outside clearly was not their intended destination. There were questions shot at the bus driver, who just told them, "Stay calm. This would only take a minute."

"What's going on?" she heard a drowsy voice. Kristoff rubbed his eyes, finally roused from his rest.

"The bus stopped. Not sure why," she told him, secretly glad to have a distraction from her brooding. She stood up from her seat, peering over the other chairs to get a look at the front.

There were other passengers standing from their seats too, demanding an explanation from the driver. One particularly persistent passenger kept pointing at her watch and shouting, to which the bus driver answered curtly, "Shut up and sit down, or get off."

Amidst the kerfuffle, Anna realized that another car had driven up to the bus. She had supposed that they might be just passerbys who wanted to find out why the bus had stopped in the middle of the highway at first, but after two men in smart black-tie suits emerged from the sleek sedan, she quickly dismissed that opinion. The bus driver opened the front door of the bus, leaving his seat and climbing down. He greeted the two smartly-dressed men, and conversation was exchanged.

"The driver's talking to these guys in black," she told Kristoff as she sat back down next to him. "Maybe they asked to him pull over the bus or something. Car accident, you think?"

Kristoff frowned. "I don't know. We would have felt it if the bus hit something."

There was the sound of heavy steps marching up the steps of the entrance. Anna leaned her out slightly to the aisles to see the bus driver standing before the passengers, with the two men behind him.

"Alright, people! Attention please!" the driver hollered over the commotion. It subsided slightly as people perked their heads up to hear his piece. "We'll resume the journey shortly after these gentlemen find the people they're looking for. The better you cooperate, the sooner we'd leave."

"Can everyone please produce your IDs, please?" one of the men in the suits called out to the passengers. Despite his appearance, he sounded rather pleasant, friendly even. "We're terribly sorry for this bother."

"A ticket check?" Kristoff hissed at her with a brow raised as he removed his wallet from his pocket. Anna just shrugged at him.

Reluctantly, everyone pulled out their identification cards. The two men went down the aisle together, checking the names and photos on the card against the person who held them. When one of the men stopped in front of her, Anna held up her card towards him uninterestedly. He inspected hers swiftly, then Kristoff's, before finally turning away. She expected to him move on and check the passengers on the row behind them, but instead the suited man tapped his partner on the shoulder and murmured something to them.

Both men then approached to them, and the one who checked their IDs said, "Ms. Arendelle, Mr. Bjorgman, we need you to come with us."

"What? Why?" Kristoff eyed them with suspicion. "Who are you guys, anyway?"

The men exchanged looks, then each removed something from their coats, holding it for them to see. "Burgeshima Police Department." True enough, the badges hanging off the flap stated that much.

"You don't have uniforms and you don't drive a police car," Kristoff pointed out, still disbelieving.

"We're on plain clothes duty," one of the officers told them as they both pocketed their badges. "Now will you please come with us? We don't want any trouble here."

Anna's mouth fell open. "But why? What did we do?"

"Well, it's fairly obvious. It's all over the Internet."

Kristoff shook his head, and Anna followed suit. She told them, "We still don't get it."

"Very well, if you want me to say it out loud then." The officer sighed, before reciting it out what he seemed to have said millions of times before this, "Anna Arendelle, Kristoff Bjorgman, both of you are under arrest for reporting without a license. Please don't resist. It'll just make this worse than it needs to be. "

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Chitter is essentially this universe's equivalent of Twitter.**

 _ **O-fudas**_ **are a type of household talisman, consisting a piece of paper with name of a** _ **kami**_ **(spirits worshipped in Shintoism) inscribed on it. They're usually placed around a house for good luck. The way I'm using them in this story is probably highly inaccurate.**

 **So if you didn't get the 'big reveal' that was supposed to blow your minds last chapter, well, here it is – Elsa was the one who rescued Anna and Kristoff, not Jack. Kind of surprised no one caught on it, but it wasn't heavily hinted before except… wouldn't have Jack flown away from Anna, like he did with Tooth, instead of merely running?**

 **Scream your shock! Or, just raise your eyebrows slightly and go 'eh'.**

 **The whole 'BS' thing is actually inspired by this certain scene from** _ **Jack-Jack Attack**_ **, which a short for the movie** _ **Incredibles**_ **.**

 **Up Next: Is it legal to arrest reporters? Who's was in the car watching Jack? Eyeballs? What's Hans' deal?**

 **This is all stuff that would be addressed...some time when I get around it.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Thank you for your lovely reviews, folks! They are a shining light to a student's dark times. And cheers to my wonderful beta** _ **waveringshadow**_ **, who somehow puts up with my eccentric schedules.**

 **Guest Reviews Mailbox:**

 **Lime: It may be sometimes before all the heroes meet each other, but slowly and surely the interactions will come. And a 'boy-toy' is... let's just say it refers usually a young male who's considered sexually attractive. It's usually used in a demeaning manner.**

 **Guest (Apr 11): Well, yes, Roman Catholics as well as certain denominations within Christianity practice confessions, but people don't tell it to just any monks – they tell it to priests, who hold a certain standing in the church (I've never done a confession myself, so I'm honestly unclear about it). And the 'secrets' confessed are usually just wrong-doings, not like pin-codes and stuff. The extent to which those sins are elaborated are really up to the confessor and the patience of the priest, I suppose. At least, that's what I understand.**

 **JX101: Aww, thanks! I hope that I don't disappoint because honestly, I don't know where all this story is going.**

 **Hopefully I can update within the next two weeks (you know, before you guys forget what this story's about.) See ya round folks.**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	13. Chpt 12: Blank Again

**Warning: Slight Gore**

What did other girls her age do in their free time? Polish their nails? Perm their hair? Go on chick-flick marathons while chewing on celery sticks? Rapunzel honestly had no idea, because she had never had a proper conversation with someone her age before.

What did girls like her do in their free time? Well, scaling up the side of a foreign building was one of them.

She never really considered the whole heroism job work at all. 'Work' was scrubbing the tiles of her home and pressing dried laundry. 'Work' was peeling onions under the tap and frying eggs for breakfast. 'Work' was singing for Mother every day and lolling around until she came back. Not that Rapunzel thought that these tasks were difficult, but they were just rather dull and meaningless. Heroics were never dull, and they certainly were very meaningful. At least, that's what she told herself. Mother's idea of heroics were … less encouraging.

She was clad in pink and purple spandex. Her boots were made of this rubbery material that stuck to her skin like glue, while barely protecting her soles from burning up every time she ran. Shoulder-length blonde hair brushed against her cardigan while she walked down the junk-ridden aisle. She had just been here yesterday, but at that time, she actually had gone through the front door.

Her reason for journeying here was actually very simple. This morning at the hostel she had been visited by an unfamiliar young man, who had bowed at her and handed her an envelope of a thousand dollars. When she had ejaculated in bafflement, he had bowed at her again, before telling her that the money was compensation for the crimes that one of their members had inflicted on her. She hadn't needed guess then which gang this young man was representing.

All the same, Rapunzel wasn't satisfied. She didn't want money. She wanted her motorcycle back. The representative had merely told her in a chillingly polite voice that she should be glad that the 'merciful _Kumicho_ had granted her any favors at all'. He hadn't answered her questions about Flynn Rider, which made her wonder worriedly if something unpleasant had befallen the gangster that had robbed her.

The Yakuza puzzled her. Flynn Rider puzzled her. So what did she decide to do? Scout the latter's apartment and see if she could find anything that would help settle her unease. Not the best course of action in the world, but that was all she could come up with for now.

Rapunzel dumped her cardigan in a plastic bag, hiding it behind a stack of cardboard boxes along the narrow street. Her chameleon friend was set there too. Usually, Pascal was able to accompany her on most of adventures, but that was when she had enough fabric for him to cling onto, or when she had a pocket. The spandex costume was really skin-tight, and if he dug his claws into it, she would end up bleeding.

"I'll be back soon," she told the reptile, patting his head lovingly. Pascal nodded, chirping his hopes for her to stay safe.

Rapunzel regarded the apartment building as she slipped a domino mask over her nose. The walls were rough and coarse, for the years of wear and tear had eroded the plaster that once covered it. That was good. More friction meant an easier climb for her. Her keen eyes also spotted what seemed to be a broken hole in the gutter near the top of the building.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath. One of her hands clasp itself to her golden locks behind her head and she focused carefully on it.

At once, yellow light surrounded her head. The golden locks began to extend themselves, growing till it almost touched her feet. Before it could, she twisted it together like a rope over her arm. Then, she looped a section of it and gripped it in her palms, swinging it over her head like a lasso. When she let go, the trail of hair shot up towards the roof gutter, winding itself around the metal and tightening itself into a knot. Pulling it twice to make sure that it was secure, Rapunzel placed one foot against the side of the wall, and began her ascent.

Despite her small stature, Rapunzel had strong arms. She knew this because she had to apologize to numerous thugs for breaking their noses. Years of doing chores at home had helped in building up the muscle, but the most of it came after she had discovered her abilities to make solid light.

Her very first creation was what she called her 'light-hair' – long golden locks that could extend to at least seventy feet in length. Perhaps her inspiration for such a design was because she had been reading Grimm's Fairy Tales that day, and she had wondered what it would be like to have the hair of the maiden that she had been named after.

She had been so awfully proud of the light-hair. She trained very hard with it, like using it to hook on too things and drag them towards her, or loop them around her body like a harness and lift herself up. She had been so proud of it that she had showed these tricks off to Mother. Mother had laughed and called her adorable – not the 'oh-that's-sweet-do-it-again' adorable, more like the 'oh-that's-really-ridiculous-stop-that-Rapunzel' adorable. Light manipulators of the hero world created swords, or guns, or shields with their powers - weapons that could actually fight bad guys. She, on the other hand, used her god-like abilities to create, of all things, _hair_.

As silly as it was, Rapunzel never really felt as comfortable with other light shapes as with her light-hair. Making any other light constructs always took a lot of concentration, but making her blonde light-hair was such a part of her she could do it automatically. She could even maintain its cohesion and solidity even while unconscious (she knew that because she had once awoken to find herself wrapped like cocoon in the light-hair). Perhaps it was because she secretly did think of herself as the Rapunzel in the fairy books, and perhaps she didn't really want to be a brunette.

Unlike the Rapunzel of the Grimm's tales however, our Rapunzel did the climbing of her hair on her own, hopping around the air-conditioning machines and the piping systems. She had to be careful whenever she passed the windows, especially the open ones, for she didn't want any of the apartment residents setting the police on her. Scaling a building in daylight was already a big risk for her, but she had no choice. It made more sense of the Yakuza thugs to leave their homes in the day than at night.

Rapunzel - or as her blonde, costumed counterpart was called - Solaris stopped her climb once her boot rested on a window ledge of the fifth floor. By the reconnaissance that she had done yesterday, apartment '502' should be accessible by this window. She pushed herself forward, leaning her weight on the balls of her feet as much as possible before letting go of the golden hair, leaving it to dangle loose. With herself balancing precariously on the ledge, she placed a palm against the window, pulling it up slowly. It pleased her to find that it was unlocked.

The room that she crawled into was empty, thank goodness, and its door was also shut. That should buy her time to escape should there be anyone still inside the house. With a single thought, the golden hair hanging outside the window rolled itself into the room after her, shrinking on itself until all that remained of it was the short yellow locks brushing against her shoulders once again. She brushed the tips of the light-hair proudly, before surveying her surroundings.

The room was untidy, much to her displeasure. The bed was a worn old thing with springs sticking out, and the bed frame was on the verge of shambles. The desk shoved unhappily in the wall was a clutter of clothes, scrap paper and stationary. Solaris absentmindedly began to straighten out the sheets and stack them together until she remembered that she wasn't supposed to leave a trace of her visit. She hurriedly tried to recreate the mess, flushing at her own carelessness. That was until she gazed down at one of the sheets.

It was flooded in scribbles, many of them repeated. When she scrutinized them, she realized that they were names – signatures, actually. The scrawl-overs and the re-dos seemed to suggest that the one writing them was actually practicing his penmanship. She pulled a face, but wasn't all that surprised. If Flynn Rider could be a thief, why not a forger?

She dropped the sheet back in the pile of items and that's when the stack of magazines came into view.

Solaris frowned as she pulled the magazines towards her. From what she had heard from Mother, men were disgusting creatures and would often keep magazines of unsavory content hidden in their bedrooms. While these magazines did contain unsavory content, it was not the kind that Mother was talking about.

These magazines, marked with a black horse icon, seemed to follow her wherever she went. It started with the ones that she had seen in the department stall on the first day that she was here, where she obtained her haunting '13' special issue. After she had done a little research online, she had discovered that yakuzas sometimes published such magazines and distributed them amongst its associates as a form of propaganda. The Nightmare Yakuza seemed especially bold with how they handed out theirs, considering they allowed shopkeepers to put them on their magazine racks for public view and readership. In other cities, such would be illegal.

Till now, she still got a nagging feeling that that these magazines, marked prominently with a black horse symbol on their covers, were telling her something. Unless Flynn Rider was an especially enthusiastic follower of his gang's 'latest news', perhaps he thought they were telling him something too.

She took up the first magazine of the pile, which was the labelled issue '#425' and poured through it. She noticed that that he had dog-eared a page, so she flipped to that one. It was a double-page spread with no text or photographs, only white background decorated with illegible black marks, and a large red letter 'F' and half of a red 'o' splotched on it. By feeling on the smooth glossiness of the page, Solaris knew that this was printed with the magazine and not a random scribble added by Rider. It seemed like an odd design to put in the middle of a magazine, but not being an avid reader of magazines, she supposed that she wasn't supposed to judge.

She picked up the next magazine on the pile, which was issue '#438'. This magazine too had a dog-eared page, and when she flipped to it, she found again the white background and the black marks, only this time the left corner of one page had another half of an 'o', and a small letter 'r'.

Solaris set this magazine page side by side with the other one. It was a perfect fit, spelling out the word in a blackish scrawl – _'For'_.

She stared at the pile of magazines and drew her brows together under her mask.

Like she had done in the department stall on her first day in Burgeshima, Solaris set down the magazines on the musty ground of Rider's bedroom. She locked the door of the bedroom to prevent the owner of the bedroom from entering should he return, before beginning her task of opening every single dog-eared page of each magazine. She tried laying them out in the order that they stacked in, but realized that some were in the wrong place, and other had dog-eared pages that were not at all related to the puzzle she intended to solve.

Fortunately, she was good at puzzles and she quickly exhausted the pile of mags. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, she took a good look at what she had pieced together on the floor. It read:

 _For The Great Stallion shall be u(Blank)ne by (Blank)wn Hor(Blank)oe_

There were at least three missing magazines – three magazines spread-pages that would complete the sentence. Solaris let out a little huff of frustration. Given how each magazine spread held varying numbers of letters, who knew how many letters – or words even - were there in each blank? There could be numerous ways to solve them!

She hunted Rider's room for the missing three magazines, but other than the useless ones that she had discarded, there were no more glossy paperbacks to be unearthed in his hovel. Examining the issues lying at her feet more carefully, she turned them back to their covers and it was then that her eye caught hold of the black horse symbol on each of them.

 _The Great Stallion_ – a black horse? Maybe it was talking about the Nightmare Yakuza? Except that mares were supposed to female, and stallions were male.

She sat herself down amongst the puzzle pile drawing two of the magazines together. The topics that both discussed were very different; one on commerce and the other on shipping. She could have mistaken them for business magazines actually by the dullness of such themes.

That was until she realized that these issue numbers were '#426' and '#439' respectively.

She hastily slid the two magazines back in position before checking issue numbers of all the magazines that made up the sentence. The numbers came up in this order:

 _425, 438, 426, 439, 427, 440, 428, 441, 429, (442), 430, (443), 431, (444), 432_

There were two sets of consecutive numbers, one from 425 to 432 and the other from 438 to 444. A number of the first set alternated with a number of the second set. Of course, issues #442, #443 and #444 were all still missing from Rider's collection. Maybe they hadn't been published yet.

Or may he had removed them from the collection so that snoops wouldn't be able to understand it. Snoops like her.

Questions swirled in her mind. What was this message? A pro-gang statement? Some kind of code? How did Flynn Rider know about this? And why would he bother to find out?

She needed to find those last issues, and if she wasn't going to find them here, she was going to pay the nearest department stall a visit.

Solaris took a mental photograph of the scrawled sentences before stacking the books back into place. It occurred to her that he might notice that someone had tampered with his belongings, but she doubted that it would really matter. It wasn't as if she would need to return here.

As the last magazine fell back to its original spot, Solaris heard an odd hum, coming from behind door of Rider's room. She froze to her spot, body tensed and ears peeled. It sounded vaguely like a buzz of electricity, but just softer and not quite so fierce. Whatever it was, it was worth investigating.

The golden locks attached to her head automatically lengthened themselves in response to her heightened wariness, one of the cords falling into her right hand. Turning it and unlocking the door knob with a soft click, she let the door open slowly. Upon peering out, she realized that the apartment really was as empty as she had expected. Doors to bedrooms had been swung wide open, and the lounge that she spotted down the hall was void of any persons. It seemed that she might have really been alone in this place all along - save for the source of that humming.

She crept out of Rider's room, into the corridor. The latter was not as well-lit as the former and she could barely make out the calligraphied scrolls hanging off the wall. Nonetheless, the slow glow from her hair was enough for her to lead down the corridor without tripping on her feet. Both her hands held each a cord of hair now, prepared to lash out at any sign of danger. Her eyes darted about as she tiptoed her way closer to the source of the humming.

Then, the humming stopped. Solaris heard what sounded like a sigh, before hearing steps. She quickly pressed herself against the wall of the corridor, continuing to shift herself further along the corridor. When she reached the corner just before the lounge, she raised another cord of hair near her chest. This lock transformed it into a yellow skillet – her second favorite weapon of choice. She usually like using it because it was hard enough to knock people out cold, but blunt as not to give any severe injuries. She craned her neck forward, tiptoeing as to peer ahead.

And then she lost her balance.

Solaris let out an _'EEEP!'_ as she stumbled forward, crashing down on to the wooden floor. Her feet had somehow got tangled up in her light-hair and now she had given away her position. Stupid rookie mistake.

"Who's there?" she heard an alarmed voice. She didn't reply, hurriedly scrambling up to her feet. If she was lucky, she might be able to escape before the owner of the voice realized where she was. No doubt he'll riddle her with bullets the first chance he got. Spandex offered no protection against firearms.

Then she heard the person swear. It wasn't the angry, aggressive kind of swear. It was a panicked, anxious swear. Why would a resident of apartment feel the latter? The brutes living here weren't the kind to worry about having their homes invaded all the time, and if they did, they would feel protective over it, not anxious.

Unless the other person was also not a resident of the apartment.

In a burst of impulse, Solaris dashed past the lounge and the kitchen, launching herself through another door to find herself in the dining room. She had raised the light-skillet over her chest to as a poor attempt to deflect any bullets, but none came.

It was empty. The scrappy piece of wood that was the dining table sat no diner. The glass doors that led to the balcony were closed, and through them she saw that that it too was unoccupied. There seemed to be no evidence of human presence.

That was until her head tilted downwards.

A crooked line of blackish liquid sat at her feet. This long trail, surrounded with smears and splatters, extended across the dining room and lead her through another door.. With great trepidation, Solaris found herself moving into was seemed to be some kind of gambling room, if the overturned _rīchi mahjong_ table meant anything. _Hanafuda_ cards were littered at her feet alongside with their poker equivalents, most of them being stained in the black liquid. Only when she saw a third of spades soaked at her feet that she realized that that the liquid wasn't actually black at all.

There was a light 'drip-drop' sound echoing repetitively against the concrete walls. This came from the dark-coloured pool of fluid in the middle of the room, at the end of liquid trail. It sat right over what seemed to hastily painted graffiti on the ground, consisting strange black scribbles and a statement spelled out in capitals:

 _HANG YOURSELF_

Hesitantly, she raised her eyes towards the source of the dripping to find a corpse hanging from the stilled ceiling fan. Barbed wire was wound around his neck like a noose and hollow crimson sockets remained at where his eyes were supposed to be. The body was stripped bare and the swirling black tattoos that covered every inch of it – black tattoos depicting horses - were stained by the streaks of blackish blood.

She screamed.

* * *

He was curled up in front of a television, watching 'Jeopardy' and trying to answer the questions before the contestants when he heard that blood-curdling scream.

Jack almost dropped the bowl of cereal on his fancy dress pants. He had meant to change out of it after he had returned to Tooth's apartment, but there's was nothing in this house that could fit him. He was too small to borrow her clothes, and too large to borrow anything from the children. So he just settled for sitting in the crumpled formal wear, socks thrown over the sofa and eating breakfast for lunch.

That was until his peace and quiet was interrupted.

Part of him told him to stay put. Tooth told him specifically to keep himself out of sight, and he didn't want to make unnecessary trouble for her. Part of him told him to get off his rear and go do something. When there's smoke, there's fire. When there's screaming, someone needed help.

He decided to flip a coin. Heads for go. Tails for stay.

He flipped. He checked the coin.

Sorry, Tooth.

He didn't have his staff with him, but he couldn't leave without a weapon. In a fit of rather bad judgement, he just grabbed the broom from the closet and sped out of Tooth's apartment with tie, dress shirt and all – though the leather shoes somehow got conveniently left behind. The last thing he hissed to the television was, "The answer, I mean, the question's 'What is Moon?', moron!'

* * *

Merida didn't do a lot of girly things in life, but one thing she did do was 'fangirling' over stars.

Well, her own version of fangirling, which was actually already very subdued.

It didn't involve queuing for hours on end for concert tickets, or buying all the related merchandise that bloated corporate media industry promoted, or writing fanfictions and posting online so that like-minded morons could gush over them. It didn't even involve hanging posters of the object of adoration in her room.

It might have something to do with the fact that her 'object of adoration' was dead – had been for the last fifty years. All the films that he had starred in were all squeezed somewhere in the 1930s to 1950s and most of those were all in black and white. It was weird enough crushing on a guy who was like a century older than her, and she honestly had better things to do than to obsess about movie stars, so Merida rarely made a fuss about it. She refused to - _quote_ \- 'fangirl' – _unquote_.

That's why she had tried to seem indifferent when they had strolled past an old-fashioned dollar theatre that had a 'Captain Blood' poster displayed for the one o'clock run. She knew that Hans had wanted to take her old racing ring downtown, so she hadn't protested. But perhaps her gaze must have lingered on the old poster a bit too long, for he had then offered to change their itinerary to suit her. She hadn't needed to be asked twice.

Merida never considered herself a big fan of the aesthetics. Physical sports provided all the active participation, adrenaline and catharsis she needed, so she never indulged too much in its comparatively more sedentary and emotional counterpart. However, dollar theatres and old movies still held a special place in her heart. Her father had loved them, so she loved them too. It helped that most Errol Flynn movies were all about adventures and heroics – he was the legendary swashbuckler of Golden Age Hollywood, after all. Merida was especially fond of the heroics.

The dollar-theatre was empty save the two of them. Merida didn't really mind – it just meant that it was easier for her to focus without people crunching snacks in the backdrop. Watching Errol Flynn films was like almost sacred event in her books. Interrupt and suffer her wrath.

Sitting in the dark with the antique projector rolling behind them was nostalgic in bittersweet way. She had her arms rested on the seat before her and her chin rested on her arms. Her eyes glued to the flickering screen, watching as the dashing actor fought himself out of yet another precarious situation. Not everything was perfect; Hans' criticism about the fencing choreography was not the same as her father's blind appreciation of literally everything about the classic film. But at least she had another redhead for company.

"You know what I like about old movies?" she suddenly found herself telling her cinema buddy, despite the silence she usually adopted in her Errol Flynn marathons. "Everything's simple. You know who the bad guys are and the good guys are. You know who to root for, who to wish death on and you know that there's a happy ending." There was a wistful note as she toyed with the silver pendant around her neck. "It's not like real life. You can't be too sure whether you're on the right side, or whether your bad guy is actually bad at all, or whether you'll get your happy ending after all the hard work that you've-" she happened to turn her head in his direction just at that moment and discovered that the seat next to hers was empty "- oh."

Miffed, Merida turned back to the screen. She grabbed the wine glass that sat on his drink holder. She didn't really like wine, and it was technically illegal for her to drink it, but she needed compensation for embarrassing herself. She took a sip, grimacing, then took another, muttering resentfully to herself, "Bullshit BS."

She reclined in the worn velvet seat, watching as her childhood hero and Olivia de Havilland began a heated argument in the belly of the ship, rolling her eyes. As much as she adored these shows, the romance scenes were never really what interested her. It was the romanticism that she was really in for.

As she took what was probably her tenth sip of the wine, her companion hadn't returned. His loss, really, since the epic ship battle was going to start soon. Merida swirled the red liquid in her hand idly as she watched Errol Flynn and his crew drawing out the cannons and their cutlasses, waiting by the docks of their galleon. The grand music in the background was punctuated with him calling them to follow him as they docked the enemy ship.

And that was when she felt a prick on her neck.

Frowning, she lifted her hand to scratch the smarting skin, only to find a small feathered dart in her palm. The feather was completely white, save a red eye-like symbol on it end.

When she lifted her head, she saw a shadow of head bobbing up on the screen and a 'creak' on the floorboard behind her.

In one swift motion, she shot to her feet and splashed the remaining wine on the assailant behind her. This action surprised him, so he didn't defend himself when she delivered the left hook, flipping him head-over-heels when he collided with the seats. Merida then whipped herself towards the other assailant who was standing in front of the film projector. His hair was twisted into a wild Mohawk, with the bare parts of his head tattooed with the same red eye motif that she saw on the dart. There was a wooden pipe in his hand, which she guessed was the blowgun. He had it raised at her again, but she moved faster, tossing the dart that he shot her straight back to him. It stabbed him straight in the eye, causing him to howl in pain.

She usually made it a habit to finish every Errol Flynn film from start to finish, no skips or pauses, but in this case, it was obvious that she had other priorities.

Being the member of one of the richest families on the West Coast, Merida had been taught the evils of kidnappers from a young age. Basic ground rules were run, hide and call the police. Those were the sad limitations of Merida Dunbroch, who, despite having two gold medals in interstate gymnastics and a black belt in Karate, was obviously no match for armed criminals. Fortunately, the Will-O-Wisp had no such problems.

The redhead got into action, moving herself out of the row of seats and out to the aisle. She needed to find a place away from surveillance cameras and other people before she could disappear in a puff of blue flame. Before she could, however, two thugs came rushing in through the front doors of the theatre. They wore shoulder bands bearing the red eye motif as well.

She spun around, intending to head for the backdoor when two more gang member emerged from there, one bearing a metal pipe and the other a baseball bat. She quickly assessed them both, before deciding that it would be easier to take down the baseball one, then the pipe one, when she heard the cocking of a pistol behind her. "Hands in the air!"

She swore under her breath. Where was her bow when she needed it?

Right, it was sitting in the summerhouse, waiting for _the Wisp_ to pick it up.

Reluctantly, Merida slowly turned to face the hoodlums that had their firearms pointed towards her, raising her arms. If she ever survived this, her mother was going to slap bodyguards on her with a ball and chain. There went her secret life.

"You're all going to prison," she told them without so much as blink. If she was the Wisp right now, they would be pinned like insects in a display case. She felt one of the thugs grab both of her arms from behind. "Hey!"

"This would be a lot less painful if you don't struggle, Miss Dunbroch," the pistol-wielding ruffian told her as his associate bond her wrists together. By the rough texture and the weight, she guessed that it was rope.

"She broke my jaw," a distance voice complained. In the middle of the sea of seats, she saw the thug that she had given a left hook to nursing a bruise on his face.

"And I think she blinded me! OWW!" the blow-gunner growled as one of his gangmates yanked the dart out of his eye. "That hurt!"

"Oh, sorry." The ruffian who had tried to be helpful seemed slightly embarrassed.

Their 'victim' just observed their antics, unamused.

"Are you going to put a bag over my head too?" Merida deadpanned as she tugged experimentally against her binds. Those were going to leave a mark.

"Eh," the gangster with the gun, who was probably the leader by how the others deferred to him, gave a shrug. "Once the drug kicks in, you'll conk out, so, nah. Paper bags are kind'a corny."

Drug? What drug?

The small puncture on her neck began to burn rather prominently and she suddenly realized that the world around began to swirl, mashing up the black and white cinematography with the red seats. She blinked and shook her, trying to clear her focus. Well, that complicated things.

"Move it, people!" the leader ordered the rest of his misshapen, unfragrant team. "The boss wants us to keep this quiet and uneventful."

She felt one of the thugs shove her forward, to which she delivered a scowl.

Just as they had begun moving towards the exit of the cinema, Merida heard a light ' _whizz_ ' – three ' _whizzes_ ', actually. Instinctively, she ducked. The three thugs behind her suddenly crumpled to the ground, their bodies spasming.

"What the -" the leader of the abduction didn't get to finish his exclamation, for he too joined his comrades to on the ground, shuddering. She saw a small metallic projectile stuck in his chest, emitting sparks that made him break out in rapid jitters. Grunting in pain, he dropped his gun.

Merida's eye darted about frantically as the two remaining thugs attempted to draw their own firearms, only to be shot before they even lift the guns from their holsters. They tumbled on the spot. Admirable marksmanship, she thought, and neat weapon.

"Merida, this way!" It was then that she noticed that there was someone standing at the front exit of theatre. Hans had some kind of gun in his hand and beckoned her over to his position. "Hurry before it wears off!"

She didn't need to be told twice, hopping over the fallen bodies and racing up the stairs of the aisle. Both redheads fled the theatre, not stopping even when they passed the ticket man or the box office, who were clueless to what had just transpired and thought they panicked fleeing bizarre.

"Where were you?" she almost screeched at him as they turned to the walkway, speeding down it. This was a street of rather old buildings, mostly uninhabited. The only people they ran into were a couple who had exited the diner along the street. Displeased looks were shot at them, but looks didn't hurt as much as bullets, and Merida gathered that Hans' taser bullets – whatever they were – were only temporary.

"Making calls," he answered, irked. "I actually work for a living, you know."

Grabbing her by the shoulder, he pulled them both into an opening between an old pub and an apartment building. It was out of the vantage point of the dollar theatre entrance – at least till the kidnappers got out and explored. The duo paused for a moment to catch their breath, taking peeks round the corner for the thugs.

"Well, maybe you should call the police," she reluctantly suggested, letting out a wheezy exhale. Vaguely, she felt her head spinning but she shook it away.

"By the time they get here, it'll be too late." It was then that he noticed her binds. "They tied you up? Seriously? You're just a kid. What could you do to them?"

"Excuse me!" Merida had to take offense. "I broke one person's jaw and blinded another!"

"And I shot all of them," Hans said in return, unimpressed. He spun her around such that her back was facing him. She felt him pulling against the knots. "Was one who did this a Boy Scout in his past life? If I didn't know better, I'd call it the Gordian knot."

"Well, cut it then," she told him impatiently, jiggling her arms up and down. "Isn't that where the phrase 'Cut the Gordian knot' comes from?"

"I don't exactly carry a _switchblade_ around on my person."

"But you do carry a taser gun." Come to think about it, were such weapons actually allowed for civil use?

He huffed. She could feel him shifting uneasily. "One of my _clients_ tried killing me before. I've been pretty paranoid ever since."

"And people think I have issues." Merida crooked her head over her shoulder just raise her brow at him. Letting out sigh, she finally said, "Check my left sock. I think I have a knife there."

The gaze that he gave her was one of incredulity, and it didn't disappear after he retrieved the switchblade from said sock.

"Why did you even carry this?" he asked, clearly baffled as he sawed through the rope.

To Merida's relief, the binds loosened and in no time, her wrists were free again. Perhaps knowing that she was capable of knocking the daylights out of people again allowed her to a little more honest.

"Well, I still don't know you that well, and it's possible that you might secretly be a creep, so-" she rubbed her wrists vigorously, trying to draw the ache away "- I need a knife so that I cut out your 'you-know-what'. And no, I'm not referring to your entrails, though that would be painful too." She added the last portion for clarification after she took her knife back from him.

The gun-wielding lawyer stared for her for a silent moment, before saying with no small amount of sarcasm, "Your trust in me is heartening."

"I'm just very alert about stranger-danger, okay?" Merida defended herself, unwitting thinking back on how she hadn't hesitated to shoot Knight on their first meeting. Of course, she wasn't sure if she could trust him then.

Her fingers ran over the outline of her phone in her pocket. She wasn't sure if she could trust him now even. He did try to blackmail her with her identity.

Deciding not to decide, Merida took a glance around the corner of the block instead. This allowed her to be just in time to observe the thugs emerging from the dollar theatre, all clutching some part of their body. The leader bellowed an order in a language that Merida didn't know and his gang mates spreader themselves out across the street, no doubt searching for them – more specifically, for her. All had their weapons drawn. "Your taser thing sucks. They're already back on their feet."

"I could it set it at a higher voltage,-" she could hear Hans gritting his teeth, perhaps still perturbed by the unpleasant information that she had just shared with him, "-but then it might be lethal. Do you really want blood on your hands?"

The cool strip of silver around Merida's neck reminded her that while blood was fine, death was unacceptable at this point. She let out a deflated sigh. "I guess not."

She felt him grab her hand and pull her down the alleyway after him. Pride might have told her to shove him aside and take the lead, but she supposed that she owed him for 'rescuing' her at the theatre (she could have thought a way out if she had more time, anyway) she didn't know these streets the way he did – and they were surprisingly more complicated than she had thought. They were snaking up a narrow backstreet one minute then diving into an underground passage the next. They had made it around four blocks from their original position when Merida felt that her surroundings turning into a swimming blur was not just due to them running so fast, but because her surrounding were actually turning into a swimming blur for her.

An abrupt attack of confusion had tripped her over a curb as they crossed a road, making her scrape her knee on the sidewalk. She cursed, struggling to get back to her feet only to find her legs weren't really cooperating.

"Come on!" Hans yanked on her arm, but her knees buckled even with his help. Even with her deteriorating senses, she noted that his manner changed as he peered down at her, "Are you okay?"

"They shot me with something just now. Some kind of sedative, I think," Merida said, as he jerked back her back up to her feet, supporting her by the elbows as she tried to steady herself. "I'm surprised it took this long to kick in, actually." Her voice sounded to her like she was trying to talk under water.

"Well, at least we know your kidnappers are cheapskates," he said, but she could tell that was an edge in his tone. He was worried. After taking a hasty sweep of their vicinity, Hans questioned her seriously, "It's just two more blocks before we reach the car. Do you think you make it?"

Car? They had a car? Then Merida remembered that he had driven them here, but had to park outside the city to avoid fees, or maybe to avoid it from getting robbed. She wasn't clear which the correct one was, but she really couldn't care less right now.

She nodded, despite how she actually felt.

He led her forward, and this time she was glad he did. It was hard enough work trying to put her left foot in front of her right, and even more so when they were running. It never really hit her earlier, but he really did have the remarkable stamina he had boasted about. She did too, but that's because she had to have it as the Wisp.

Of course, the Wisp could also teleport them away to somewhere safe from hoodlums, but she wasn't prepared to disclose that much to her babysitter. Revealing the knife in her shoe was already a big step.

They were taking turn around another building when they were ambushed. The tattooed assailant was not very bright, however, for he had chosen to attack alone. Moreover, he chose to grab her by the collar and drag her towards him. Even with her senses numb, habit let her hands supply him a blow in the stomach, then another in between the eyes. When the thug had collapsed to the ground, Merida beamed proudly at Hans.

"See! I can-I can-" for some reason she couldn't find the words she wanted.

"Noted," was all he said as he shot the thug, who emitted a yelp of pain as the taser bullet hit his chest. "We're almost there. C'mon."

Sure enough, the silver sedan that they had arrived in was just a few steps ahead. Okay, maybe like fifty steps ahead, but that wasn't difficult, unless you were drugged and felt an intense need to plonk yourself down on the ground.

Merida sank her teeth into her lip, trying to use to the pain to keep herself awake. Her free hand gripped the collar of her shirt and she tugged on it subconsciously as Hans dragged them across the path.

When they arrived in front of the car, it was rather surprising that the rest of the hoodsters hadn't caught up with them yet. Merida had expected more of them to spring on them somewhere down the road, but oddly enough, that didn't happen. Perhaps they were really a bundle of idiots. She almost felt sorry for them.

Hans hit the switch of his key, opening the door for her first and helping her doddering self in. It was only after he had slammed the door shut and she blearily reached for the seatbelt that she realized that her neck was bare.

The alarm that shot through her system broke her out of her daze as she placed both palms on her neck, groping it in horror. True enough, her necklace was gone. The last hoodlum that they had encountered must have snatched it off her during the scuffle.

When Hans slid himself into the driver's seat next to her, he noticed the pallor of her expression. "Merida, what's wrong?"

Of all the cursed, damnable things that had to happen today.

Just as he was about to start up the gas, Merida shoved her door open and clambered out rather ungracefully. Good thing her mother wasn't here to see _that_. Her legs were shaking and she could barely keep herself from the tipping over, but she forced herself to march forward - to race forward even. She needed that pendant.

Hans was yelling after her. She couldn't really stop and explain why it was so important for her to go back. With her life and much more on the line, it was irrational to return for a lost trinket. She couldn't tell him that it was more than a piece of jewellery. She couldn't tell him that it was more than a family heirloom.

"Merida!" She heard him swing the car door open. He was going to chase after her, _stop_ her. With the drug eating away her strength, he might actually succeed.

She upped her speed.

And that was when the world exploded. Or at least, that was what it felt like to her.

All her mind could really register was her body being flung forward and the side of her head colliding with the pavement. A surge of heat swept over her and she wasn't sure if her skin had or had not been set alight. Soot and petrol filled her nostrils and it was only this disagreeable stench that kept her conscious at all.

With much effort, Merida managed to lift herself a little off the concrete, resting her body weight on the flat of her arms. Prying open her eyes was almost torture, but she clenched her teeth and did it all the same. Gingerly shifting herself around, she finally caught sight of the wrecked sedan, completely alight. The hungry blaze ate into the metal structure without a care. Broken pieces had flown across the street all around and dark smoke swarmed the flaming automobile like bees around honey. The glow of the fire scorched the road, burning on the granite as it were paper.

There was no way he could have survived that. Not unless the Wisp had saved him. But the Wisp should have saved them both in the first place.

She might have gasped, or cried, or just gawked, but she didn't know what she did do. Her senses were fading. Her eyes were already fluttering shut. Merida heard murmured voices discussing something in a coarse tongue, but the language would have made no difference when her thoughts already were scattered like the fragments of the sedan.

* * *

Once the gangsters bearing the red eye had claimed their prize and cleared the streets, he emerged from his hiding spot. In the distance, he watched as the smoldering shell that used to be car let out another fiery boom. Its flames spread out its wings a little larger, searing the pavement and the car across the parked with its fiery malice. The metallic frame that used to be the canopy collapsed over the blazing the seats.

As disturbingly enchanting as the sight was, he tore his eyes away from it after he deemed that there was nothing he could do about it. He turned his attentions instead to a bright gleam in the corner of his vision. A small, circular pendant lay on the pavement and he strolled over, taking his time. He bent over and picked it up by the chain, noting how the flames danced over the silver motifs.

The fool who had ripped it off its owner had been comatose after being zapped by a rather high-powered taser projectile. He had been in such deep unconsciousness that his comrades had to haul him away along with the girl. None of them noticed the necklace.

He examined the engraved patterns on the surface. It bore the image of three bears, wound together in a perfect circle. Each bear was embossed with a tiny emerald for an eye. An interesting motif, indeed, just not one familiar to him.

But if he stared at it hard enough, he would notice that that red flames reflecting off the silver turned blue instead. And those green emerald eyes? He would see that they transformed into a brilliant ultramarine instead. The pendant would rattle against the skin of the wearer, and the glow in his or her eyes would turn match the luminous gleam in the eyes of the bears.

He didn't notice these things as of now, merely slipping it in his pocket. But who could say how long, if ever, it would take for him to realize the incredible power contained in that antique ornament?

And, too, the grave cost of being its owner.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **There are some Yakuzas who really do circulate propaganda magazines amongst themselves, though not publicly available. It's supposed to kind of like a country club magazine, but just that their 'Forward' pages are written by their** _ **Kumichos**_ **. There are also Yakuza fan magazines that are not printed by the Yakuzas themselves, but feature interviews by them and other stuff. It's kind of hilarious, interesting and scary at the same time.**

 _ **Rīchi mah-jong**_ **is a Japanese version of the more famous Chinese** _ **mah-jong**_ **with its own special rules. It's usually a gambling game involving four players and uses white tiles. I don't actually know how to play this.**

 _ **Hanafuda**_ **are 'flower cards', which are used for traditional Japanese card games (which may also be refered to as** _ **Hanafuda**_ **). Gambling with these cards are said to be one of the occupations of the Yakuzas' predecessors. Precisely, the 8-9-3 (ya-ku-za) hand comes from a game using** _ **Hanafuda**_ **.**

 **Jeopardy, if you don't know, is a game show in which the contestant is shown an 'answer' and must guess the question. The format is usually "What is-"**

 **Errol Flynn was kind of like the Leonardo DiCaprio of Golden Age Hollywood (as in being a Hollywood Hottie. He never won any Oscars, come to think of it). He was famous for swashbuckler roles, like in** _ **Captain Blood**_ **where he earned his fame. I've suspected for some time that a certain 'Flynn Rider' may have been named after him, but I've never asked Disney.**

 **I'm aware that normal taser guns don't shoot bullets, not even 'taser bullets'. Hence, it's not a normal gun.**

 **Not sure if I had mentioned it before, but the bear pendant Merida wears and loses in this chapter is the same one that Elinor gives her in the movie, and the one that Merida exchanges for a spell 'to change her mum'. Its importance has been hinted ever since Chapter 3 (which was the Wisp's intro).**

 **Gangsters with a red-eye motif? Who could they be? (If you read the Odds of Five and know who my favorites are, you might guess.)**

 **Here's a favour I need: I'm not from the USA, so I don't actually know how the school systems work. If there are any American readers out there, could someone please explain when the long break holidays usually take place and how long they are for, let's say, students who are 16-17 years old (approx. Grade 10-12 I think)? I need this for story purposes.**

 **Up Next: What do you know? The next one is the 13** **th** **Chapter.**

 **The** **13** **th** **Chapter.**

 **Hehehehehehehehehehehe….**

 **Actually… it might not have any significance. I'm just messing with you.**

 **Or am I?**

 **Muhahahahahaha!**

* * *

 **A/N: The more I write this, the more I feel like I'm writing some kind of thriller instead of a superhero story. I'm slightly disturbed by myself.**

 **Thank you lovely people who reviewed! If you're out there and read this story and somehow you find it entertaining, please drop a review if you can. I love hearing for readers!**

 **Besides the whole part about being an insecure student who seeks validation from in the wrong place…**

 **Pretend you didn't read that.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	14. Chpt 13: T is for 13

Chapter 13: T is for 13

* * *

When he had left Ameripan ten years ago, he had spent his time travelling around this planet that had become, by default, his home. He had visited the Himalayas, the Great Wall, the Great Barrier Reef, and the Pyramids even (though Egyptian summers were something he never wanted to experience again). He had braved weathers hot and cold – mostly cold out of personal preference. He had slept in underpasses as well as castles. He had tasted some really good food, some really bad food, and some food that was just 'erghfwl' – 'erghfwl' because there was no word in any language he knew that could describe them.

He, however, had never been bound to a chair with cords of hairs while having a lizard-like creature stick its tongue in his ear.

An oddly specific set of circumstances, you might remark to yourself quizzically. Nonetheless, these were the circumstances that he found himself in right this moment.

"EWWW!"

The reptilian squeaked in response to his cry, hopping off his shoulder at once. Jack would have scrubbed the insides of his ear if his arms were free, but since they weren't, he settled for trying to rub it against his shoulder. The icky feeling remained.

"That is disgusting!" he shouted at the reptilian creature, who scampered across the wooden floorboards towards a …a girl wearing pink spandex? And a mask? And she had really long hair. Really long golden hair that extended down to the floor, drew a circle around him, and twisted itself all around his wrists, his legs and his lower torso.

He blinked at the girl. The long-haired girl blinked back. The miniature reptile found his way up the girl's shoulder, and it also blinked at Jack. It was like a blinking fest, if such strange things existed.

As fun as the blinking was, Jack was too confused not to care about, well, _what on earth was going on_ , so as all extremely confused people do, he asked, "Where am I?"

The girl in the pink spandex took in a deep breath, staring at him so intently that he wondered if she had understood what he had said. Maybe she didn't speak English. Jack prepared himself to sprout a Japanese version of the question when - _"You'reinaplacethatnoonecanfindyou!"_

He cocked a brow. "I didn't catch that."

The girl took yet another breath in, then let out a long exhale. She nodded her head slowly as she spoke, as if the words were coming out according to a mental metronome, "You're – in – a – place- that – no – one -"

"-can find me. Okay, got it." Jack pursed his lips together as he gave his surrounding a more thorough look over. He was seated in the middle of what seemed to an abandoned apartment. The furniture had all been cleared out, with only two other plastic chairs sitting listlessly in space. The wallpaper was either flaking off or rotting where it was. There were no lamps or covered lighting around, only the single light bulb hanging over his head. There were two windows in front of him, but both had blinds drawn across them. He didn't know this place at all. He stared down at the golden hair. He certainly didn't remember ending up in this state.

That was his next question. "How did I get here?"

Spandex girl opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. Her green eyes darted to the little reptile sitting on her shoulder, who shook its head. She then answered him loftily, "That's for me to know and you to find out."

"Thanks for your generous sharing," Jack snipped irately in return, feeling a little cross about her refusal. There was also this smarting bruise on his forehead. She must have hit him with something really, really hard - to knock him out perhaps. "Don't you think I should at least get to know why you've tied me up in your-" he glanced down at his bound arms, not quite believing his eyes even till now "-hair?"

"Well, if you really must know," the girl said with exaggerated nonchalance, choosing this moment to examine her finger nails, "you're a suspect for murder."

"Murder?" he repeated, his brows shooting up along with his incredulity. "Okay. Now I'm pretty sure you're crazy. I don't know anything about a murder."

"Oh, is that so?" Spandex Girl narrowed her eyes at him dramatically.

She had some hair wrapped around one of her arms, so she pulled on it, dragging Jack's chair towards her. Friction didn't agree with the legs of his chair prison though, so instead of sliding towards her, his chair tilted forward. Fortunately for Jack, she didn't let him face-plant himself on the ground, but grabbed the top rail of the chair in time. This timely catch however resulted in both their faces being just a few inches from each other, his blue eyes staring straight into her bright emerald ones.

"Then tell me this, then,-" He could tell that the awkwardly close position was not the one that she intended by a twitch of her lip, but valiantly, she kept up with the show "-why were you at the murder scene?"

"Murder scene?" He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Look, the last thing I remember was that I was watching 'Jeopardy' when I heard a scream from upstairs, so I ran up there and found there was this apartment door that was open. So I charged in with my-" he paused his recount as he scanned his surroundings once more. "Where's my broom?"

"I've hidden it," Spandex Girl told him with a triumphant smile, throwing back his chair as she did. "Somewhere you'll never find it."

"Oh, erm,-" Jack pressed his lips as he struggle to steady his chair. It didn't topple over, fortunately "-I don't actually need it that badly, until Tooth kills me for raiding her cleaning closet. So, yeah-" he shrugged "-hide it as long as you like, I guess."

The blonde girl appeared taken aback by his blasé response, sending a confounded glance to her reptile pet, who turned polka-dot in confusion. "But-but isn't it your signature weapon or something?"

Jack scrunched up his face. "Um, no, I'm not a witch - wizard. Not like that kid with that lightning scar on his forehead. So, no. A broom would not be my weapon of choice."

"Aha!" He found a finger pointing straight at his face. He stared up to the masked girl, who wore once again a large grin. "So you _do_ admit you do have some kind of weapon! Which is of your choice!" Her eyebrows wiggled wildly. "What is it? Hmmh? Barbed wire?"

Jack didn't even bat a lid. "No. It's a stick."

Her victorious aggression fled her quickly enough as she registered what he said. "A stick?"

"It's very handy," he told her with a straight face, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eye. Despite her technically holding him prisoner, it was remarkably easy to tease Spandex Girl. This was almost fun, actually. "Like for companionship, carrying things, self-defense, hockey-stick, baseball bat, getting laundry, scaling walls, acts as a chair and so on."

Her eyes were wide, almost frantic. Poor Spandex Girl looked like she really didn't know what to make of this. "But if you're-you- why did you run up to the apartment?"

"Because I heard a scream and I thought someone was in troub-" he broke off as an idea occurred to him. "Hold a moment," he said, scrutinizing her. "Were you the one who screamed?"

Even with the pink mask covering half her face, he could see the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Ha! You were!" Jack chortled, throwing his head back at the same time. He couldn't help it. Here she was, trying to act like some bold badass when she was actually just a squeamish kid! "You were the one who screamed! Hahaha!"

"Well, you would too if you saw a dead body hanging from the ceiling fan with blood dripping everywhere!"

The outburst was left Jack stunned. Spandex Girl seemed pretty surprised about it too, by how quickly she clamped a hand over her own mouth. Her green eyea flickered about rapidly, thinking of a way to cover up the break of character. Abruptly, she plopped herself down on the floor, locked her knees together and buried her face in her crossed arms. Jack was alarmed to note that the girl was shaking like a leaf and he could hear what sounded like muffled sniffles. The reptilian creature sitting on her shoulder glared at him, as if saying, _'Now look at what you did.'_

Feeling flabbergasted and perhaps a little guilty, Jack leaned himself as forward as he could, peering at Spandex Girl warily. "Are you crying?"

There was no answer, only more sniffling.

Panic sent him rummaging through his head for all the comforting phrases he knew. "Um, please don't cry. I'm sorry"

The sniffling only got louder.

"I shouldn't have teased you. And you're right. If I saw a body hanging from the ceiling out of nowhere I'd probably scream too." After he heard what came out his own mouth, a faint memory rose in his mind – a sight he saw right before he was knocked out cold. "Oh, _that's_ the murder you're talking about."

"I'mma ter'b-" the rest of words were jumbled up in the sobs.

Jack tilted an ear towards her, asking, "What?"

Spandex Girl lifted her head from lap. The eyes behind the mask were streaked with red and her lips were curled in a sad, sobbing pout. "I'm a terrible superhero." She didn't dare raise her head towards him, staring aimlessly in space instead. Her hands clutched her elbows tight, evoking a thrum of sympathy in Jack's heart. "Mother's right. I'll never be ready to handle a real case."

Superhero? Oh! That explained the get-up. He had thought that she was wearing a swimming costume, which would be a strange but still harmless form of attire. Considering how miserable she looked, it was a good thing he hadn't told that.

"You're a Super?" Jack tried to ask in a bright manner.

The girl nodded while wiping her eyes with a hand, then shrugged. "Sort of."

"Cool!" Jack beamed kindly towards her. "So, what are your powers?" Then he glanced down his golden binds. "Oh, right."

"I'm a photokinetic," she told him dully, still appearing rather out of sorts. Her lizard-like friends gently brushed its paws against her shoulder. "The hair's one of my constructs."

"Photokinetic? As in you can control light?" That term sounded familiar to him. "That's kind of like Matahari, isn't it? You know, the Golden Age hero?"

Spandex Girl seemed surprised at the name he mentioned. "You know Matahari?"

"I met her once," he mentioned casually, digging through a few old memories stashed in the back of his mind. "She's quite a snob. I honestly think she might have been jealous of me. She thought that I was too good looking."

"She's not a snob!" The vehemence at which Spandex Girl snapped at him almost threw him off his seat. The flushed cheeks turned crimson with anger. "Don't talk about my mother like that!"

She slapped a hand over her mouth again, horror written all over her mien. The reptile on her shoulder let out a startled squeak, turning red in alarm, then scurried into her golden tresses to hide himself.

Jack's mouth fell open. He couldn't help but gawk at the girl. "Your mum's Matahari? As in _'The Sexiest Super Alive'_ Matahari?" He gave her a thorough look over. There were no physical resemblances he could see, but maybe Spandex Girl took to her dad's side more. "Actually, now the photokinesis makes sense."

The girl seemed like she was going retract her earlier statement, but then she just slumped herself against the peeling wall, defeated. "Forget it." She sighed. "Clearly, I'm better at giving away information than getting any."

There was a muted silence as Spandex Girl stared resentfully down at her own costume while Jack just stared confusedly down at her. It then occurred to him that he had only so far called her 'Spandex Girl' in his head and he actually didn't actually know her real name.

"What do you call yourself?"

The girl looked towards him quite unwillingly, then said in a small voice, "Solaris."

His eye widened in recognition. He had heard of it during his travels. "You're that hero from Korobe."

"You've heard of me?" This seemed to cause genuine surprise for her, possibly some delight even.

"Yeah, actually." He scrunched his face up questioningly. "You don't look much like the magazines."

"They photoshop me a lot." She let out a sigh, looping a golden strand behind her ear. She then tilted her head towards him. "What's your name?"

"Jack. Jack -" he checked himself in time "-just Jack."

"Well, 'just Jack'-" despite her outward distress, she was still sharp enough to catch his near slip-up "- how did you meet my mother? The last time she was wore her costume was before the Anti-Hero Act. That's nearly twenty years ago. You'd be like-" she bit her lip, calculating "-two years old, at most?"

It was Jack's turned to be frozen in chagrinned silence. "Um…"

His hesitant gaze met Solaris' expectant one. It was then he made up his mind.

"Alright, here's the deal, Sol." He tugged at his bonds emphatically. "Why not you free me from your hair, and we'll play twenty questions with each other? You're a hero, and you're here to seek justice, restore order, etcetera. Well, so am I."

She narrowed her eyes at him, rising to her feet as she did. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you,-" he jerked his chin toward her, then towards himself, "-me, team-up. What do you think?"

"Well, I don't know." It was no outright rejection, but she was conflicted. In a matter of fact, Jack realized that she seemed very conflicted about many things. She consulted her reptile, who emerged from its hiding spot. The creature merely eyed him with suspicion, which led Solaris to say, "You're technically a murder suspect. I shouldn't let you go free."

Jack let a weary groan. "Do you honestly think I'm the murderer?"

Despite herself, Solaris shook her head. "You wouldn't have returned to the apartment if you were. I guess...not?"

"Good." He pointed a finger down towards his feet. "Now can you please let me go? I can't feel my legs anymore."

* * *

 _BEEEEZZZZZEEEEEEEEPPPPP!_

"OW!" Hiccup had to whip off his headphones to keep himself from going deaf. He then noted that there was a black cat paw resting on the 'up volume' button. "Toothless!"

The mammal with the coal-colored fur appeared quite indifferent to the harm that he might have just enacted upon his boy, choosing sit on that spot of the keyboard while licking one front paw.

"No, no, no, Toothless." The brunette boy lifted the cat from the computer, earning dismal yelps from the creature who was set onto the bed instead. "You stay on the bed. It's comfortable. It's fluffy. This is where you sit." He pointed at the device. "On the other hand, laptops are hard, uncomfortable and, not to mention, expensive. You do not sit on laptops."

Toothless seemed appeased by this explanation, but Hiccup didn't doubt that it would be forgotten soon enough and the black creature would be trampling over the keyboard all over again.

Turning down the volume via the laptop, Hiccup gingerly fit his headphones over his head once again, adjusting the mouth piece.

 _"-kay? Hello, Hiccup?"_

"I'm here, Fishlegs." The boy gave the hostel a thorough scan once more, just in case someone had walked in the last five minutes and he hadn't noticed. "Toothless was just wreaking havoc on humanity again. All's well now. What've you got?"

 _"I did the checks on 'missing eyeball' related crimes as you said, from the two police files that you've got as well as some other sources. They should be coming your way now."_

Hiccup did receive several new case files, for Fishlegs was a lad of his word. He clicked on the pop-up that directed him to PDFs of relevance.

 _"If you look at the dates, you would find that they've been scattered across the last two years. Many of them are unresolved, but I'm not certain that they're committed by 13. He's only been around for like several months or so, hasn't he?"_

"It might be that he's been in Burgeshima for a long time, just that knowledge of his existence to the rest of Ameripan was only brought to light after the 'Teen Super' wave," Hiccup said, as he browsed through the files. "Do all have mentions of frostbite around the eye sockets?"

 _"Not really, but I suspect that the coroners of the bodies may not have noticed. It's not something that people are actively looking out for,"_ Fishlegs answered. " _It may well be that-"_

A sudden buzz erupted in the headphones again, making Hiccup jerk his head back in pain, ripping the earphones off.

"Tooth-" he began to chide the furry mammal, only to find that the cat was curled up in a ball near his pillow, caught up in blissful slumber. This interruption wasn't from Toothless, it seemed.

"Strange," Hiccup murmured as he slipped the headset back over his head.

 _"Yeah. It is kind of strange, isn't it?"_ rang an amused voice from the other end of the line. It was unfamiliar to him.

"Fishlegs?" the boy said tentatively.

 _"Sorry, Hiccup. I'm afraid your friend's having a bit of … connection issue. Berkazaki's so awfully far away from Burgeshima, though. It's quite understandably that things like that happen."_

Hiccup stiffened, his heart ramming in chest. He had worked hard with Fishlegs on designing their communication networks to be near impenetrable. It shouldn't be that easy to infiltrate. His throat went dry. He could barely croak out, "Who's this? How did you get on this line?"

The mysterious voice on the other side seemed to have read his mind, for it then told him, _"Oh, your programming's fantastic – really, considering you're still in high school and everything. Unfortunately for you both, I'm pretty neat with tech myself. Moreover, this is my home turf. I know everything that happens here."_

The screen of laptop suddenly fizzled out. The documents that Fishlegs had sent him disappeared from sight, dissolving into a mess of black and white pixels.

Once the resolution of the image sharpened, Hiccup realized that he was looking at the Burgeshima Police Department headquarters building at night. As the video footage played, he saw himself leaping out of the third floor of the building, grabbing on to the wire before being pulled up to the roof. The Night Fury shadow was cast briefly on the building façade, before vanishing. A cloaked figure had followed him to the window, one with glowing blue eyes – the Wisp, Hiccup recognized - before she disappeared in puff of blue flame.

The boy frowned.

 _"Do you know that it's rude crossing into another hero's territory without permission?"_ Though the tone was calm and polite, Hiccup could detect the annoyance laced with every word. But in that single sentence, the identity of the speaker was confirmed.

"You're 13," Hiccup said rigidly, almost disbelieving. Just a minute ago, he was pouring through dozens of files and tracing old crimes scenes to track down the mysterious vigilante of Burgeshima. And now, he was on the phone with him.

 _"And you're Knight, the dragon rider,"_ the voice on the other side told him briskly. _"Now that we're done stating the obvious, can we get down to business?"_

Through gritted teeth, Hiccup growled in a way he normally didn't, "What do you want?"

 _"Well, I really, really want is you and your Wispy friend out of my city ASAP-"_

"Not until you've answered for your crimes," Hiccup cut in, almost punching his laptop in his ferocity, "starting with San Fransokyo. I've also got these bunch of eyeball-related stuff-"

 _"You talk as if you've never killed anyone before,"_ was the scornful comeback.

Hiccup's expression turned dark – not that the vigilante on the other end would know. Or would he? – as he brought the mouthpiece nearer his mouth, repeating, "What do you want?"

 _"So aggressive. Yeesh!"_ He could almost hear him faking a shudder. _"And I'm actually calling here to do you a favor. Well, sort of."_

"What do you mean?" He must have said that louder than he intended, for Toothless had been startled out of his sleep. The black creature scampered to Hiccup's side, staring up at him, knowing full well that something was not right. Hiccup placed a hand over the feline's head, rubbing the back of its neck as he listened to 13 chuckle.

 _"In case you didn't notice, the tracker that you placed on your redheaded friend some twenty-four hours ago was removed by her twelve hours ago,"_ the vigilante told him in a mockingly gleeful voice, _"which is why you have no idea what just happened to her."_

Before Hiccup could clarify the matter, his laptop started flickering again, showing another surveillance footage, dated just earlier this afternoon. It showed what appeared to be a deserted road with a few cars parked along it, of which one of the cars had been set aflame. He saw that near the car lay a body – one that he could not see. Tattooed men, probably gangsters of kind, moved towards the limp body, hoisting it up. It was then that Hiccup spotted the wreath of crimson curls surrounding the girl's head. Even with the pixelated imaging, he knew who it was.

 _"She's not hurt. Much,"_ 13 informed him wryly. _"They probably want her alive, anyway. Ransom only works if the hostage is alive, right?"_ His volume dropped to a sarcastic murmur. _"I've never actually taken anyone hostage before. Sounds weird for someone with my rep, but that's the truth."_

Hiccup pulled himself away from the screen, trying to absorb what he had just seen. He noted the marks on the hoodlums were not the black ones that were observed on most of Burgeshima's low-life. "Who are these guys?"

 _"Members of the White Peacock Triad. One of the Nightmare Yakuza's greater foes."_ The footage was paused and he was treated to a blown-up image of a tattoo on one gangster's head. It showed a red oval with a black dot at its centre. Crooked red squiggles circled the oval. _"They bear the Red Eye, as you can tell."_

"What do they want with her?" Hiccup scrutinized the tattoo. There was something familiar about it, something that his teachings should have covered…

 _"Well, does it look like I know?"_ There was a pause. _"That was figurative, because you can't actually see me."_

"I kind of gathered that," Hiccup muttered. He picked up one of his PDA, hitting on the appropriate application and activating it. He took a wire clip, hooking one end to his headphones and plugging the other end into the PDA. The screen of the PDA lit up, reading 'tracing…' with this lighted circle whirling around and around.

 _"Well, if you really want to know why they want with her, you can ask them after you get there."_

"Get there? What do you mean?" Hiccup asked, glancing down at the screen of his PDA. The blue-hued screen still read 'tracing...'

 _"There's a damsel in distress, so someone's got to play knight-in-shining-armor. Or shall I say, Knight-and-Fury-in-shining-armor."_ He could imagine 13 grinning madly at his own little joke behind his steel mask.

"I think the Will-o-wisp's more than capable of looking after herself," was Hiccup's dry response. The bruises of their previous skirmish still smarted. With her bow and teleportation skills, there were few prisons that she couldn't break out from. "She doesn't need me."

 _"Actually, um, I have it on good authority that the Wisp's teleportation powers are temporarily out of order."_ There was smugness in his tone that Hiccup didn't like – not that Hiccup liked anything about 13.

He checked the PDA again. The programme managed to determine that 13 was in Ameripan. A second later, it zoomed in one the West Coast, going closer and closer, until hovering itself right over Burgeshima. It seemed that the 'hero' had indeed returned to his home town. "How come?"

 _"Well,-"_ 13 made a 'hmm-hmm' noise, as if pondering whether to reveal this fact, _"- I guess you can ask her when you get – hey, are you trying to_ _trace_ _me?"_

"What?" Hiccup feigned confusion. He peered at the PDA once again. It was zooming down on central Burgeshima city. Just a few more seconds...

The vigilante didn't believe a word of it, however. _"Yep, you are totally trying to tracing me. Kid, that's just rude."_

Before the exact coordinates of 13's position could be calculated, the image on the PDA screen disintegrated into a mosaic of color, then turned completely black. Hiccup let out an inward sigh, but at least he had gained 13's rough location.

 _"Because I'm horribly nice, I'll overlook this little hiccup, Hiccup."_ There was no humor in the voice now, just biting irritation. _"But do that again, and I'll make your life a living hell. Literally."_ Clearing his throat in the mic, 13 adopted his business-like tone again. _"I'll be sending you the coordinates of the Wisp's location and any details you need. Once you've saved her, however,-"_ the volume dropped several decibels, _"-get out of my city."_

Then, he fell back into the part-cheerful, part sardonic manner. _"Oh, by the way, just remember this; black sand goes into the freezer, don't write in red, and_ _always,_ _for goodness sake,_ _always_ _wear eye protection."_

With a sharp crackle of electricity, the line was cut.

Hiccup slowly removed the headphones from his head, watching as the images from his screen disappeared and the old files he was looking at reappearing. The dead PDA screen also flashed back to life as the little device restarted itself. He stroked the head of his feline companion, as if trying to assure himself by the texture of Toothless' fur that he had been dreaming and that conversation had really taken place. The little mammal didn't object to the extra massage that it received, but it did let out a mew of concern, angling its head towards him. Toothless knew when his boy was troubled.

"I don't know how much he knows, bud," Hiccup told his companion, his brows creased together. "He knew my name. He knew hers. He hacked into my laptop, my headphones and my PDA. Even if he doesn't know everything about me yet, he has the means to find out."

The wiry boy peered at the laptop screen, his eyes roving over the various murder cases, half of which the infamous vigilante was probably responsible for. If someone like 13 had that much information about him, who knew what he'd do with it?

Without really meaning to, Hiccup's gaze fell on to the lower half of his left leg. Though mostly hidden under the fabric of his trousers, he could feel very well where the flesh ended and the metal began. The incidents which resulted in such a marring of his appendage, however, were what scarred him the most.

If someone like 13 had that much information about him, he could hurt the people he cared about.

That thought alone made Hiccup's blood boil - not the quiet, deadly simmer that was stoked over a gentle flame. No, it was bubbling inferno threatening to explode.

Before he could do anything rash, his cell phone rang. Hiccup yanked it out and hit the green button. He placed against his ear. "Yeah?"

 _"Hiccup! Thanks Gods!"_ The relief in Fishlegs' voice was unmistakable. _"I'm blocked from connecting to all your stuff. I couldn't even reach a call to you until now. What happened?"_

It was then that Hiccup noted that he had received a new set of files on his laptop. He scrolled the mouse over the button and opened it. As promised, the information to find the Wisp. To top it off, the vigilante attached a personal note:

 _I meant what I said, Hiccup. After you save her, you're out of Burgeshima._

It was unsigned, but there was no need for it.

 _"Hold on a sec…"_ he could hear Fishlegs typing furiously on the other end. _"Yes! I'm connected back to your laptop again. Now lem'me see if I can-"_

"Fishlegs," Hiccup interrupted him grimly, rubbing his own temple as he did. "There're some serious issues we need to discuss."

* * *

"I invoke the First Amendment upon you, filthy dogs!"

Her companion rubbed his forehead while she continued her hollering. The guard sitting at the end of the aisle was fortunately plugged into his earphones and paid no mind to the crazed girl with a white streak of hair. All their belongings, save their clothes, had been taken away from them, leaving them with very little entertainment to while away their time.

As she took a moment to catch her breath, the blonde boy said, "You do realize that the First Amendment isn't a spell or a curse. You can't 'invoke' it."

"I'm the writer, Kristoff. I know how to use my words," she chided him dismissively, earning an eye-roll from him. Anna then pressed her face close to the bars of their cell, beginning her hollering once again, "This is an infringement of basic human rights! The minute I get my lawyer, I'll persecute all of you!"

"Prosecute," he corrected her mildly, staring at the granite walls that made up five-sixths of their cell. There was scratched graffiti all over it, varying from phone numbers to curse words to stick-man drawings. There was one odd carving that looked like a taco.

"No." Anna turned to him, saying softly as if divulging a secret, "I really mean to persecute them."

"You're weird," he told her flatly, checking his watch. It had been nearly five hours since they're arrested. So far, no one had come to talk to them about their charges, or seeing any lawyers. Kristoff felt that this couldn't be the right procedure to deal with things, but he didn't know for sure. He hadn't ever been arrested before.

"No, I'm unique," she contradicted with a beam, flopping her braids back. "Now, who doesn't know how to use words?"

In a minute later, she returned to her activity of banging her palms against metal bars and demanding for their release. He went back to quietly studying the scratches on the wall.

It was perhaps half-an-hour later that Anna finally did shut up, only for that solace to be intruded upon by a pair of gentlemen in suits again, not unlike the plainclothes policemen who had arrested them. Accompanying them was a uniformed policeman, who undid the lock on their cell door and pulled it open. Both young reporters glanced towards the officers, then towards each other.

"Ms. Arendelle, Mr. Bjorgman, your bail has been paid for," the uniformed policeman told them. "You're free to go."

Kristoff shot a look towards Anna. Out of the two of them, she was the richer one, so it was possible that her people had been contacted and they've paid it up. But who would pay for him? His family didn't have the money. They probably didn't even know where he was right now.

So he asked the officers, "Who paid?"

A suited person that wasn't in uniform answered, "Someone who would like very much to meet you both. Would you come this way please?"

He and Anna exchanged sober looks. No matter what had been said, they were not exactly free to go.

As they were led out of the cell, Kristoff notice that the suited men were not the same as the uniformed policemen. The uniform policeman acted upon instruction of the suited men – which was, strangely, not given in English, but in Japanese. The uniformed policeman also kept deferring to them, keeping his head bowed towards them at all times. It dawned on Kristoff that despite what the suited gentlemen had said, they were not plainclothes policemen. They were most probably not policemen at all.

He whispered this newfound revelation to Anna, to which her eyes widened, and she hissed back, "Then who are they?"

Private conversations however were cut short as both of them were out of the police department and towards a full-size Rolls Royce saloon. Another suited man with glasses stood at the door, and he pulled it open just as their party approached.

"Please." The not-plainclothes-policeman gestured towards the car door, a polite smile resting on his hard face.

"What about our stuff?" Anna asked. "I need my phone back." Kristoff nodded too. His camera was far too expensive to lose due to some mistake in the law.

"We'll have them brought to the destination. Don't worry yourselves about it," the suited man assured them, still smiling. He dipped his head towards the car door once again. "Please."

It wasn't that large a car, but it was undeniably luxurious. The plush seats were like nothing Kristoff had ever sat on in his life – a smooth, furry lining that was fun to run his fingers over, and fluffy cushioning that was incredibly comfortable. There were buttons on the side of the windows that made automatically drew up the shades if desired, and pulled them down if the buttons were pressed again.

Anna on the other hand was not taking the moment to enjoy herself, frowning thoughtfully as the car started moving forward.

"Kristoff." She nudged him in the ribs, her voice low.

"What?" he answered, stabbing the air-conditioning buttons, trying to see what each one did. The button with water droplet picture blasted water vapor out, while the one with snowflake on it blasted cool air. The fire button blasted out hot air and the one with waves patterns on it shot out – air freshener? Well, why not? Useful in case anyone farted in the vehicle.

"I think they didn't give us back our phones because they didn't want us contacting anyone," Anna whispered urgently, causing him to cease his tinkering with the equipment.

He leaned back into his comfortable plush chair, body tensed. His eyes fell on their driver, whose face was obscured by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. There was also a translucent glass shield that separated them from the driver, conveniently reflective enough such that they couldn't see where they were going from the front view.

"Do you think they're going to kill us?" he asked her, a worried expression appearing on his face.

"I hope not. We just got famous on the Internet," Anna whispered back with vehemence, her face turning white with fury. "I've got things to do with my life! Fans to brainwash. Followers to mislead."

"Well, same here," he conceded. "Though less on the ...mislead." He tugged at the door handle of the car, but as expected, it was locked and he couldn't find a way to unlock it. The control must be on the driver's side only.

Anna propped herself up, knocking at the driver's shield. "Hey!" she called to him. "Can you tell us where we're going?" The driver didn't seem to notice her, continuing on his business. She rapped the frosted glass again, waving her arms wildly. "Heeeeellllllloooooo?"

Eventually, she gave up and sunk back into her seat. Turning to Kristoff, she said, "What should we do?"

The blonde boy threw a fist against the car window, only to earn bruised knuckles. It was then he admitted whilst cradling his injury, "I have no idea."

Finally realizing that they had effectively been transferred from prison to moving prison, both journalism interns slumped themselves against the lavish seats, kicking their shoes at the silky carpeting. They watched as the vehicle zoom past the city, past the dozens of people who didn't know their plight and probably didn't care anyway. Then suddenly, the city was gone, and they were driving into what appeared to a lush forest, only that every tree and branch seemed to have been trimmed and manicured to precision.

"Kristoff, do you know this place?"

He certainly didn't. The driver slowed momentarily before a metal gate, which was then opened for him. The car started up again and they drove through.

The neat forestry dissolved from view to reveal another masterpiece of botany. Helix-shaped hedges formed from flower bushes flanked them side by side, each bearing a species of a slightly different shade. The car swung around what appeared to be a fountain, like those marble ones that you always saw at palaces in the movies, before continuing on to more hedges, this time shaped to form arches over their head.

"Where on earth are we? A theme park?" he heard Anna gasp, but it wasn't a question as much as a remark of astonishment. His own mouth was hanging wide open.

The road then took an upward curve and granted them a wide view of the grounds ahead. There appeared to be nothing but widespread lush gardens right and left.

"Who owns this much land in the middle of a city?" he exclaimed to her, to which Anna could only shrug.

The car suddenly pulled to stop again at yet another gate. From his window, Kristoff noted that there were suited men standing around the guard house near the gates – gates that bore images of black horses and some _kanji_ characters he couldn't read. Some of the guards bore firearms and had earpieces strung around their heads. The driver rolled down his window and exchanged words with one of the guards.

"It's like this guy has his own army," Anna murmured, impressed as she squinted through her own window at the gate. "A senator, you think? Or Bill Gates-esque fellow?"

Kristoff swallowed down the lump in his throat. His thoughts were less much optimistic. What if this some kind of modern concentration camp, or maybe some government prison? Were they both going to die for free-speech? Or be locked at the bottom of some danky torture chamber, to never see the light of day again?

The decorated ebony gates were pulled open and the guards drew aside, allowing the car to pass. Now all that surrounded them were tall stone walls, seeming to press against them even as they sped through. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was nervous about what was going to happen. Very nervous.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. "Kristoff! Look!"

Shifting closer to Anna to peer through her window, he found himself blown away by what he saw.

When he was younger, Kristoff had had the opportunity to visit the capital where he had seen the Imperial Palace with his own two eyes. It had been a breathtaking sight that left him full of wonder and awe. The looming castle in his horizons now had a similar effect, except that instead of stirring up wonder and awe, it ignited a sense of fear and dread.

It was designed like the castles of old, with a spread of towers and palaces sprouted over an artificial hill, interspersed with high granite ramparts. Each building was cut into a symmetrical design - geometric pieces of art in the form triangular gables and rectangular walls, stacked upon one another like a wedding cake.

The main keep was elevated above the rest, its topmost wooden eaves curling towards the dark red sky, black tiles gleaming in the remnants of sunlight. It appeared to float over the grey walls and the speckles of greenery, reminding him of how kings had once built their homes in the skies as to be closer the gods.

Except that this castle didn't feel heavenly, or majestic, though it certainly was grand. He didn't know why, since the architecture of this _shiro_ was no different from others he had seen on postcards. But somewhere, deep inside him, Kristoff felt that there was a great darkness in this place – a shadow that haunted its halls. If Dracula had to take an Ameripanian residence, Kristoff would plop him down here. This castle seriously creeped him out.

He knew Anna was remarking something about the castle, but he didn't listen to her. He only held his palms together and prayed silently that somehow they would make it out of this alive.

* * *

"They've entered the gates, Kumicho-sama."

"Good." He glanced from the window, watching as a car rolled through one layer of the fortress, only to disappear under the cover of foliage, then remerge when it drove through another gate house. "I assume all is prepared?"

"Yes, sir. They will be directed to the waiting room until you're to receive them."

"Excellent." With that, Pitch dismissed the servant, who bowed before sliding the door shut.

Turning back to the mirror, he returned to dressing himself. Pitch folded the left panel of his brocade _nagajuban_ over the right, tying them together with a _koshi himo_ – a rope-like fabric that acted as a waistband. He then picked up the outer piece of the kimono, the heavily embroidered _nagagi,_ and slid his arms through the sleeves. Folding the black fabric over his torso, left over right again, he tied this to with another _koshi himo_.

He could have had servants to dress him, but when it came to putting on the _mon-tsuki_ , he was something he always did himself. It was complicated, due to all the knots and layers of clothing that went over one another, but his gaunt fingers had tied these knots and his shoulders had shrugged on these robes so many times that he was certain he could do it blind. The _mon-tsuki_ was the most formal form of traditional dress that he had been taught wear, and he had worn it to both celebrations and funerals. A lot of funerals.

Pitch Black, by his current name or his old one, was obviously not a true blood Japanese. The little that he could remember of his biological origin was that his parents might have been possibly of Slavic origin. But in terms of upbringing, he was every inch of a son of the old empire. He had grown up under the beneficiary and guidance of another _Kumicho_ of a different Yakuza, and though he had left it in his youth to join the army, the teachings and philosophies stayed with him. Having been heavily influenced by his mentors, he was a loyalist to the core. He had served faithfully in Vietnam, and even when the battle was lost, he hadn't been like his peers who grew cynical and doubted, who retreated against the marches of the torpid flower generation. He had believed in the Ameripanian Dream so fiercely that he had continued pursuing his career in the military, doing what he had believed would protect those he loved. He had been a man without fear.

He had been a fool.

It was after he had strapped the decorated _obi,_ the belt, over the waistband and slipped on the _hakama_ that there was a knock on the door. Pitch considered dismissing whoever it was, for he did wish to contemplate in solitude, but the one at the door spoke up, "Father?"

He pondered over the course of action as he fastened the cord of the _obi_ with that of the _hakama_ , then said, "Enter."

The wheel below the door rolled back and heels clacked against wooden boards. In the corner of his vision, he watched her slide the door shut before slowing turning towards him, bowing. Despite the show of piety, he noted by her expression in the mirror that she was unhappy.

"Well, if you must, spill your discontent," Pitch told her dryly, bending himself forward slightly to adjust the creases of the _hakama_.

He noted how her face darkened, but she merely drew herself up straight, her eyes trained on him through the mirror. "I heard about Flynn's punishment."

Pitch tore himself away from his reflection for a moment to gaze at her – steely, stiff, yet rebellious and hot-blooded – then returned to dressing himself. "That's what happens when you break the code."

"Which part of the code did he break exactly, might I ask?" Elsa folded her arms, glaring at him. She was still dressed in those awful, plain working clothes that she had been wearing since the morning.

"Oh, I don't know,-" he rolled his eyes sardonically, "-acting without being instructed to, disobedience, disrespect for peers, general disdain for any forms of authority, and not to mention, theft from an unconfessed source? Take your pick." The black _haori_ , which was much like a loose outer jacket, was the last item he slipped over the kimono, hanging it over the _hakama_. "It was hardly the worst thing I could have done to him."

"He lost his job because of you," the blonde woman spat at him, taking a step forward as she did.

"Good!" Pitch spun towards her, his silvery gold eyes flashing. The sun was creeping down the horizon and it washed the chamber in a crimson hue, but at his words, shadows poured out and stretched themselves across the walls and floorboards. His tone was acrid and stinging. "Perhaps I should also arrange for him to be thrown out his apartment, into the streets, and have his limbs sawed off for good measure." He shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "I should have his eyes plucked out and his body dumped into the Pacific too, while we're at it."

If the darkness and his threats had stirred fear within her, his daughter hid it very well. There was not a trace of ice at her feet as there had been during her tantrum in the morning. There was no shudder or tremble, only her cold gaze meeting his scathing one.

"Sometimes I think you take specific pleasure in hurting people I care about," she finally said, dropping her arms to her sides and her shoulders relaxing. "You're jealous."

He laughed at that. He laughed so hard that he had to clutch his side, where scars of old surgeries and battles had marked him. She maintained the stiff upper lip posture, but he caught the flicker of hesitation in her expression, and it made his grin even more taunting.

"I honestly couldn't care less about who you hand out your affections to, my darling Elsa." He shook his head, a chilling snicker rippling from the back of his throat. "Try not to get it into your head that every action I take has to revolve around you."

For girl with powers of ice, she certainly knew how to glower.

"Go and change into something more fitting as the daughter of a _Kumicho_. You look like an office-worker." Pitch flicked his hand scornfully negligently towards the door, turning back to the mirror to straighten out the _haori_. "We'll be having some guests this evening and I expect you to be there."

She bowed at him, but her expression was still grim. After she had departed from his chamber, he noted that there was a slight chill in the air, but that was to be expected. Despite how firmly she tried to control, Elsa's hold on herself was by no means water-tight.

Pitch took up the silver brooches bearing the horse emblem of the Yakuza and fastened these to the _haori_. He gazed at himself one final time at the mirror to ensure that all pieces of the attire was in order, before letting his gaze drift to the window once more.

The saloon car had drawn up at the bottom of the main keep, to the great staircase where the visitor had to alight. They would then have to climb the steps up to the main lobby, where Bellwether would receive them. It was an old trick of ancient kings to build steep steps towards their palaces – a way to ensure that those visiting them would have their heads bowed as they approached him and that their gazes, when permitted, would always be lifted towards him. It was a behavioral conditioning of superiority that Pitch had admired so much that he had it incorporated in the design of his grand residence.

Yet, even though he was the one up here, peering down at the common strangers below, a strong sense of discomfort welled up within his chest. A small head bobbed into sight as the door of the saloon drew open - a blonde head that belonged to a blocky young man. He was joined by another figure, one with brown braids hanging by her face. Pitch's eyes narrowed themselves together, scrutinizing her hard when he noted the flash of a white streak on her head.

"Are you sure that you don't actually care?"

Pitch Black would never admit himself to be startled, but he had to admit that he was not expecting a visit from the owner of this voice. Not betraying inch of feeling, he leisurely drew himself around, coming face to face with a masked figure standing before the open fire place, his arms crossed behind his back.

"If it isn't the masked brat," Pitch stated uninterestedly.

"And if isn't the moody old timer," was the cheery answer, a stark contrast to the grimness of his steel disguise. One of his metal-laced fingers pointed itself towards the glowing hearth. "Have you ever considered making s'mores over these? They're so handy to have in your room, so you can just kick back your black slippers and snuggle in a sofa while crunching your teeth into graham crackers and-"

The Nightmare King just deadpanned at the fire, then at the masked vigilante.

"Not a big fan of s'mores, then? Okay, okay, sure. Can't make everyone love it." The vigilante shrugged, his palms open and upwards in resigned manner. " 'Thought it was just an all Ameripanian favorite, and since you're supposed to be some kind of 'Super-patriot', or was that just -"

"Do you ever get to the point?" Pitch sliced in, the look he gave the masked figure being as sharp as a knife.

The vigilante known to the world as 13 made a show of dropping his shoulders, letting out a sigh. A moment later - "You can't see it, because of the mask, but I'm rolling my eyes at you."

"Thank you for informing me about that," Pitch folding his arms under his _haori_ , still miffed. "Now will you talk, 'master of the most unfortunate circumstances'?"

"That really long name could be summed up in a single number, you know," the masked one said, moving away from the hearth towards the long metal weapon that pinned the wall. "Hey, is this the real one? As in the one you carried when you were the Boogeyman. Did anyone ever mistake you for a communist in the old days?"

"It's a scythe. Not a sickle," the _Kumicho_ pointed out, become increasing irritated as time wore on. "Now, are you going to tell why you're here, or do I have to ram the scythe in your skull?"

13 let out a little laugh. "Alright, your greatness. We're both busy men, so I'll keep it simple." He clapped his metallic gauntlets together. Then, in tone much softer, much deadlier than before, he said, "Disband the Nightmare Yakuza and leave your life of crime, or I will do it for you."

There was a time which Pitch had thrown his head back and chortled at such demands. Even with the disturbing mask, with its blank, hollow slits, and with the scathing tone, it hadn't scared the Nightmare King. Now that he had heard the same thing repeated so often now, Pitch couldn't even find it amusing. It had become an empty threat – an annoyance, really.

With no smile or frown, the angular ex-soldier told the young vigilante, "You've said these words to me before, and I was unmoved then. What makes you think I'll move now?"

"Because last time, I was giving you a chance." The one in the body armor had tensed himself up, his mask following Pitch as the robed man moved towards the scythe, closer to him. "I've only cut up your underlings and minions - obviously, you didn't care."

"True," Pitch conceded, unashamed.

"But this time, what I do will be irreversible. It will change everything," 13 continued, almost shouting. Despite the heightened aggression, Pitch managed a glimpse of the vigilante's fears. As usual, it was unclear - possibly he was using some kind of fear-control technique – but there were bits and pieces of that could be perceived.

"And you're afraid that innocents would be hurt in the process," the Nightmare King said after his assessment.

13 nodded, before admittedly on a sour note, "That's the only reason why I don't put a bullet your head each time I see you."

"And why don't you do so now?" Pitch cocked his head towards the unwanted visitor, curious. "Is this not your ultimatum? Don't you want me dead?"

He could almost feel the vigilante smirking behind the mask. "Well, try not to get it into your head that every action I take has to revolve around you."

It would have been very easy, actually, for Pitch to dart towards the wall, grab the scythe and swipe 13's head off, but a knock distracted him.

" _Kumicho-sama?_ Sir?" the servant behind the door called out. "Your guests are ready to be received."

When Pitch turned back around, 13 was gone. In his place was a written note, floating in the air, swooping side to side. He snatched from the air before it landed on the ground, reading it in a single glance.

 _"Kumicho-sama?"_

He folded the note, a grim expression formed on his face. He decided to dismiss it, as he had done to all of 13's threats before. The boy had gall, but he didn't have the means. He might have huge demonstrations of willingness for violence, but he had nothing on the Supers of old. At least, there was what Pitch derived from the little that he managed to pry from the boy's minds. If there was anything 13 was skilled at, he was surprisingly good at keeping his fears vague.

"Sir?" Another wary knock.

Pitch tossed the crumpled note into the handy waste paper basket that stood in the corner of the chambers. Approaching the door, he drew open the door with such vigor that the assistant standing there jumped back in shock.

With a dark grin, the Nightmare King declared, "Gladly I shall receive them!"

"Yes, sir." The underling quickly bowed, before hurriedly going in front of his master. This gave Pitch time to glance up above the door way, as the note had asked him to. There was nothing there but the expected paper _o-fudas_ hanging from the rafters and …

A horse shoe. A horse shoe nailed above the door, facing downwards.

It was not uncommon to have such symbols around the _shiro_ , especially ones that were supposed to bring good fortune, like the _o-fudas_ and other amulets that decorated the halls. Horseshoes represented good luck – when they were facing upwards. Facing downwards represented the prosperity and luck being poured out of the house. In other words, bad luck.

Of course, such horse shoes were meant to nailed in the front door of the house, but 13 had to hang it where he knew his intended target would see it. And see it, Pitch did.

Care about it? Not much.

* * *

Night had fallen on Burgeshima, and in the cover of darkness, there was a figure that moved in the building owned by the publishers known uncreatively as 'Burgeshima Printing and Co. Ltd.'. Most of the staff had gone home, having done a good day's work and had been satisfied with it. A few stragglers remained behind to do touch ups, maybe on editorials or on graphic design. They didn't know the unfamiliar figure moving in the background but still they didn't ask after him. He was dressed so modestly and unremarkably that one would not have seen him unless they were looking for him. Perhaps they should have queried after why he was wearing a cap indoors, such as the one drawn over his face. People just assumed by the black spirals on his skin that he was one of them. A foolish assumption.

He hurried past the office cubicles, stopping only once he had reached an empty boardroom. It required card assess, but he had already known that. He slapped a tiny gadget on the reader, and in a second, the rewiring got him in without a fuss.

The table of the boardroom was full of brown paper packages, stacks of them placed upon each other. He went over to one package and carefully tore it open along the line. Under the brown wrapping, there sat a set of freshly printed magazines, prepared to be distributed in a certain gala tomorrow night. It will be the first time these glossy pages would reach the hands of the public. These ones in the boardroom had been set aside so that they could be repackaged later in a finer manner – probably in some kind of goodie bag or welcome pack for the party.

He took up a magazine from the stack and began flipping on a random page, or what he thought was random. Maybe all of this was ordained in some way he didn't know. He picked it up and set it on the table.

He then removed a small writing box that he kept in his coat. It contained only two items – an ink bottle and a brush to dip it in. He set the stationary on the table, unscrewing the ink bottle first and placing its lid on the table. He then dipped the brush into the reddish liquid, tapping it against the side of the jar a few times, then pressed the bristles against the page.

The task was completely quickly enough and he was trembling as he kept the brush back in its box. He almost forgot to cap the ink bottle in his haste. It would be difficult to explain why his coat was stained scarlet to people he bumped into. So he hurried screwed on the cap on, checking that it was tight, then returned the writing materials to his inner coat pocket.

He then took out his lighter. Holding up the magazine by its corner, he flicked the switch of the lighter. A little dancing flame appeared before his eyes, and he brought it towards the magazine on the chosen page. When it catches fire, he threw the magazine down the floor, letting the orange flame consume the page.

By right, this should have set off some kind of fire alarm, or at least the sprinklers on the ceiling of the boardroom, but it didn't it. It should also burned the magazine up till it was nothing but ash, but it didn't. The flames died away, and the magazine appeared just as it was before, except that there seemed to be an extra page added to it: one of a white background smeared with black marks – burn marks. The only thing that remained clear on it was the crimson words that he painted on.

He let out a sigh as he retrieved the magazine and dusted it with a hand, before returning it to the paper package. There was a roll of sticky tap sitting on the table, so he used to tape up the paper. He then flipped the stack of magazines around to hide his meddling, letting the untouched bottom side of the package be the view that the repacking company would see tomorrow.

The lighter went back to his coat, and he went back out of the door. He drew the cap back down his face, and again, no one noticed him. They didn't know that inside the boardroom sat a poison that was about to infect them all. They didn't know that the process had long already begun a long time ago, and that all of them were ultimately doomed.

If he could weep for them, he might have. He didn't.

As always, he passed from this place like a wandering ghost, and was never to be seen there again.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **How many of you guessed that Rapunzel's mother was actually an ex-super? Hmm? 'Matahari', which is her hero identity, is Malay and Indonesian for 'Sun'. The word 'mata' means eye and the word 'hari' means day, so the whole thing literally means of 'eye of the day', which is very appropriate. Matahari is also the name of a Dutch exotic dancer/courtesan who was executed by the French in World War I under suspicion of being a spy for the Germans.**

 **13 appears in the flesh! Haha! How many of you still think he's Jack, hmm?**

 **I kind of picture Pitch's castle to look like the Matsumoto Castle, but with more black on it and no moat.**

 **The kimono wearing instructions are fairly accurate. I didn't mention it in the stories, but a _Hakama_ is a pair of trousers with many folds in it, such that it looks kinda like a skirt. Think of it as traditional culottes/gauchos. Oh, if anyone can draw or knows of a picture of Pitch in a kimono, tell me. I really think he'd look fantastic in one, but my art skills are too awful for me to produce a worthy sketch.**

 **Pitch has a really great backstory in The Guardians books, so I'll be drawing very heavily on it for his backstory in this AU (which is something I dying to write out! So excited!). Don't worry, knowledge about the books won't be needed for this.**

 **I think it's no secret that I really love writing Elsa and Pitch together.**

 **Any guesses on 13's powers? Or perhaps he doesn't have any?**

 **I would like to thank GameboyNinjaUltimate Icarus, Mysterious Hat 21 and Destala for telling me about the American school breaks! It has helped so much in planning and writing! It has also made me realize that all these current happenings, which I had foolishly placed at Spring Break in Chapter 2, have to finish by a week or two, if not Hiccup has to go back to school (because in real life, school is more important than crime-fighting)…Well, thanks lots guys!**

 **Up Next: Tense Dining Ettiquetee, Psychotic Kidnappers, and Detective work. Probably.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Greetings, I'll be going off for vacation soon, so I'm afraid updates will only start again in probably the last week of June. I'll hopefully be able to get enough internet to reply reviews at least.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **DHW: Glad that you found all those stuff cool! Hope that you enjoy reading the rest!**

 **I adore reviews, so please send them if you can.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	15. Chpt 14: Ameripanian Dreaming

Chapter 14: Ameripanian Dreaming

* * *

If you crossed the Chinatown end of Burgeshima, you might have heard of the one known as 'The White Peacock'.

He was not a figure to revered, like Metroman, nor was he one to be feared, like Pitch. In a matter of fact, the Chinese community knew very little about the mysterious mobster of that resided off the shores of Burgeshima. Some said that he was a merchant prince from Canton who had his wealth stolen by Ameripanian investors, so he swore revenge upon them by creating his own fire and storm. Others said that he was a cursed creature, touched by unholy spirits that made him a bird by day and a human by night. To keep the scraps of his humanity, he would drink the blood of his followers. Those who scoffed superstition said that he was just a descendant of the degenerate generation, rebelling against the norm with bullets and firepower just because he could.

The truth was actually simpler than anyone imagined, yet it would be an odd person indeed who would imagine it. For what made 'The White Peacock' the way he was none of these, but a question that he had asked:

If you could change your fate, would you?

He was not the first to ask this question, and he certainly was not the last.

* * *

"Get up!" She roughly pulled to her feet. "We've got no time to waste."

Merida wanted to rub her eyes, only to discover to her horror that she could not move her hands. Both of her wrists were bound in front of her, locked together with a tight pair of complex-looking metal cuffs that felt oddly familiar.

"C'mon!" she felt herself being tugged forward by the cuffs and at once a sharp pain rattled her bones, making her cry out as she stumbled forward.

It took her a while to organized her thoughts as she was led down the dim corridor. She remembered being drugged, then being ambushed then, attempting to be escape, then losing the pendant and...

Her babysitter was dead. It was all her fault.

Well, not exactly. It wasn't as if she was the one who planted the bomb at the bottom of his car. But she could have prevented all these if she had more foresight, if she had been more cautious.

Some hero she turned out to be.

"Hey, move it," the redhead felt someone shoving her from behind. "This ain't no sightseeing cruise, Miss. We're on a tight schedule here."

Cruise? It was then that she noticed how the floor swayed under her feet and how the lamps overhead rocked from side to side. There was a muffled scent of sea-salt mixed with the damp air. A surge of panic struck her. If her kidnappers had taken her on a boat, it could only mean that her current location was off mainland. That meant no phone signal, no police and no rescue. Worse of all, she wasn't a very good swimmer.

They led her up the winding stairs to the deck, where she discovered that the transport that has carried her was an ordinary passenger ferry, except that the plastic seats were had been ripped out to increase the leg room.

They had docked up what appeared to be an abandoned oil rig of sorts. Huge balls of smoke puffed out from the top, and waste was churned out through pipes at the bottom. The hurling waves below lapped themselves against the metal beams that held it in place. Land was nowhere in sight.

The hoodlums led her up the platform that connected the ferry to the dock. There, more armed gangsters bearing the scarlet tattoos met their comrades with firm handshakes and greetings in a crude tongue.

Merida was treated with devilish grins and predatory leers, to which she retaliated with the baring of her teeth. They laughed at her, of course, for they saw only a helpless rich girl who played a defiant heroine. Merida simmered inside, prepared to roundhouse kick the lot of them when the one grabbed her cuffs and dragged her up down the docks, almost making her fall over. This earned a volley of snickers from her unrefined kidnappers, making her scowl even harder.

They led her to inside of the oil rig and Merida was immersed into the stench of dried diesel. Soot clung to the sweat on her forehead and the heat from machine exhaust filled her nostrils. The grunts of iron against iron thrummed against her ears, and she could feel the steel-plated floor vibrating under her feet.

"It'd be this way, your majesty." A kidnapper made an exaggerated bow at her as he gestured towards an old shaft elevator. Merida gave him a scornful sniff before climbing into the cage. It creaked under her weight, and it groaned worse when the men climbed on, so much that she'd thought the chains holding it up might snap. One of the gang members drew the metal doors of the cage together while another pulled on a lever attached to the ground.

As the elevator began its ascent, Merida heard a shrill sound ringing out, echoing into the hollow that was the oil rig. In response, the gangster raised their chins, cupped their mouths and let out an animalistic cry that Merida could only say resembled the howl of wolves. Her guess must not have been too inaccurate, for one scar-eyed hoodlum saw her watching and grinned at her, saying, "Welcome to the Den, Princess."

Merida thought herself rather 'unsheltered' for a girl of her standing. Her peers in school had barely been exposed to the riff-raff, because they had no need to and because they had no desire to. Being a girl of simple tastes and of peculiar moonlight activities, she had rubbed shoulders violence, illicit activity and dirt all the time. She had, however, never seen anything quite like 'The Den'.

The centre of the old oil rig was set aflame like a giant furnace - rather hazardous considering the remnants of diesel that could be spilt around. Electrical lighting seemed all but gone, for every inch of the rig interior was lit by the fires, casting everything in an ominous crimson glow. Surrounding it were machines, closely packed together in a rising spiral. _'Chomp'_ and _'screech'_ they went according to their mechanical rhythm, with metal presses clunking against the metal parts in harmony. Twisting gears placed the background ostinato as they rocked and rolled the goods down the conveyers. It was a jarring song of harmonious efficiency.

There were also other gangsters in the oil rig. These fellows, either carrying sabers like those in her company or sub-machines, were stationed on every floor. Some were occupied with working the machines while others marched on patrol. As the work elevator brought them higher and higher, Merida manage to watch the machines assembling parts together, before the convey belt rolled the part down to the next machine for the next tweak.

"What're you guys making?" she asked one of the gangsters.

He just cackled at her and didn't answer. Merida did, however, catch sight of an unsealed crate as they ascended and saw the polished, military grade weapons stacked within it before it went down the belt to be sealed.

Eventually, the elevator came to a halt, and the pulleys that held it up clinked as they were finally brought to rest. The Wolves, as she now called the guards, then pulled open the shaft doors and pulled her forward by the cuffs down a narrow walkway lined with metal railings.

At this point, Merida knew that she had better plan a course of action. She assessed the situation.

She was outnumbered and outgunned. She supposed to she could swipe a saber with her cuffs still on, but she wouldn't be able to use it well, not with her wrists being squeezed this way. She needed to locate the key of the cuffs, but she had no idea which of these hooligans carried it.

As she silently brooded over her dilemma, the redhead found herself being brought to what she could only presume to be the supervising office of the rig.

It was an octagonal room built almost entirely of glass, which that allowed the in-charge to observe the activities happening within the rig station. There were tables and boards scattered around, bearing both diagrams and words that she could not read from her position; all these appearing to have been stained with grime during their tenure here. White banners bearing the red eye were draped over alternate panes.

The office had few occupants, just to two giant brutes that stood guard at the entrance and an old lady. The latter was seated in a corner of the room on the floor, eyes shut in concentration. She rolled in her hand what appeared to be a cup of sticks, murmuring under her breath as she did.

As Merida was led deeper into the centre of the octagonal office, the old woman's eyes suddenly popped open and her beady pupils fixed themselves onto the girl. Her lips parted, as if prepared to say to address the newcomer, but one of the gangsters boomed over her, "Lord Shen, she's here!"

"About time," a crisp voice rang out of nowhere, or so it seemed at first.

Merida took in a sharp breath when a fluttering figure suddenly leapt from the ceiling, landing lightly on the ground in one swift motion. White robes rustled against the floorboards as the figure straightened himself up. Against the glow the fires burning below, his bleached white hair was surrounded by a hue of scarlet. Like his followers, he bore crimson marks in an eye-shape on his skin, carved as a chain that circled his neck. She noted that he wielded a long lance-sword, which he dragged along the ground as he approached her. He also carried a fan, almost as long as his forearm, decorated with the red-eye motif like those on his skin. Metallic gauntlets covered both his hands along with sharp talon-like hooks on every finger.

The gangsters moved themselves away from her to allow their master to examine their prize.

"So, this is the heir to the House of Dunbroch?" He cocked his head towards her like a hawk considering a mouse. His eyes, piercing cold, peered down at her, scrutinizing her ragged attire with disapproval. "What an atrocious little clump."

"And you must be from the geisha-reject box," was what Merida hoped was biting enough a retort, hiding how jittery she really felt.

He examined her coolly as he fanned himself, and for a second Merida feared that her remark had struck a raw nerve. Then, he let out a raspy bark of laughter.

"Not too bad." Shen chuckled, fanning himself. "Yes, thank heavens that you're not an airhead. I loathe airheads only slightly more than imbeciles. Yes, there's a difference." This was addressed to the scar-eyed gangster, who bore a quizzical expression. "Don't believe me, check the dictionary."

"Yes, Lord Shen!" Scar-eye actually whipped out his phone and began furiously typing into it. "Which dictionary app should I use, sir?"

"Oxford, of course," the white-robed man snapped at him. "What other dictionaries are?"

"Well, sir, there's Merriam-Webster, , Collins, Cambridge..." the gangster listed off his fingers, which earned a glare from his lord. The former gulped when he noticed this, then hastened to add, "But, of course, Oxford's the best. British dictionaries for the win, sir!"

Merida could help but think this a little peculiar.

Anyhow, Shen seemed suitably appeased, for he returned his attentions to his redhead captive. "I don't expect you to know who I am, you ill-informed scion of riches-you-didn't-earn-" Merida spluttered for a reply, but he simply raised his voice over her, "- ut if it grants you any peace of mind, I am known as 'Lord Shen' in these parts, Master of the Peacock Triad."

"No bells ringing here." Merida shrugged, tugging against the cuffs as she did. They pinched her wrists even more. "Ow!"

"Eight-point acupressure cuffs. They get tighter the more you move." He raised a brow at her wincing self. " 'Really thought you would figure that out by now."

"What do you want with me?" Merida asked, wondering privately why the name of these cuffs sounded familiar. It was as if she had encountered these recently somewhere else...

"With you? Nothing. You're merely goods for the barter." Shen moved himself over to one of the cluttered tables, picking out a file from the rack and dropping on the table. From the folds of his fan, he produced a razor, thin as a feather. With its tip, he spread open the pages. "What I really want is something held in the trust of your board of directors."

"The BOD of the bank trust?" She stared at him in bewilderment. "Aren't you supposed to call my mum for ransom?"

"I'm not looking for money," he informed her dryly, gazing down at her with clear disdain. "The particular object which I desire ownership over happens to be stored in a specialized safe under Dunbroch Bank & Trust, which can only be accessed by the one who put it there, or by the combined signatures of three main members of the board, of which the CEO - your mother - cannot be one of them. So, no, I also have no use for your mother." With his knife, he pierced a thin sheet in the file, lifting it to the light to examine it.

"They'll never give you what you want," Merida told him defiantly, recklessly jiggling her cuff again and making them even tighter. She didn't honestly know how the BOD would react, but she had to pretend she would. "Ack! Ow! They can't be intimidated by you."

"Hopefully, you're wrong," Shen muttered without looking at her. "I hate to send your body back in a box."

"Lord Shen?" One of the gangsters standing by the wall awkwardly raised his hand. "Err, can't we just throw her into the ocean? It's a lot more convenient than arranging delivery service, like with plotting the destination and shipping costs."

"Not to mention," another hooligan piped in, "overuse of cardboard boxes for packaging and petrol for delivery trucks in actually killing tree, sir. It's not a very environmentally friendly option while incurring high administrative costs."

"If I say we ship her body back in a box," the ganglord hissed lethally at those who have spoken, scratching a talon across the table, "we will ship her body back in a box! Is that clear!"

"Very clear, sir!" "Absolutely crystal, Lord Shen!" The trembling Wolves hastily fumbled to give their answers.

Yes, this was rather peculiar a place.

"Anyway, I've given the BOD twelve hours to handover the package," Shen went on smoothly, as if the interruption had never happened. "They're still bargaining for more time, possibly to get Yakuza intervention. Committees." He made a noise of distaste. "They never get anything done."

"Yakuza? As in the Nightmare Yakuza?" When Shen inclined his head forward to concede, Merida made a jeering snort. "Sorry to ruffle your feathers, 'Lord Shen', but Dunbroch Bank & Trust isn't part of any Yakuzas or Mafias or crime syndicates. Those are just rumors spread by our competitors."

He shook his head at her, a grim chortle rumbling from his throat. "You sad, naive little rich girl."

He pulled a ledger from the pile of books, flipping it open on the table. Using the stem of fan, he spun it around to face her, then pushed it forward so that she could see it. Merida peered questioningly at him, before taking a step towards it. She saw all the names clearly, including familiar ones like 'Macguffin' and 'Macintosh', along with some dates and account numbers and details she didn't understand.

"What's this?" she asked.

"The first page of the list of the shareholders of Dunbroch Bank & Trust. As you can tell, your family still holds majority shares at forty percent. However,-" he pointed at the right most column with his blade "- see all those the asterisks I've written here?"

Merida's eyes traced the symbols marked by pen and she nodded.

"Well, I wrote an asterisk against the name of every shareholder that's a member of the Nightmare Yakuza. Guess what percentage of your company they hold in total." She didn't speak then, but he didn't wait for her answer. "Forty-three."

"Impossible," Merida said at once, taking a step back. "My mother would never allow it. The company will never leave family hands."

The mobster appraised her critically. "Your mother can hardly control everything, being both mayor and CEO. Now, maybe if someone else took over the company," he waved his fan nonchalantly "someone with a stricter enforcement on anti-gang policies, perhaps this wouldn't happen, would it?"

Merida continued to tracing the names down the list, stopping short at the line detailing the shares purchases by a certain 'Kumori Nakahara', who had an asterisk by his name too. It had never occurred to her before that her mother's shoving her towards the leadership role might not be driven on a whim, but on necessity.

"Well, well, what am I to do with you?" she heard Shen murmur, flapping the fan towards himself. "Da Lang,-" the scar-eyed gangster straightened himself to attention, "-what is the state of the holding cells?"

"Damp, moldy but secure, sir," was Da Lang's prompt reply.

"They'll have to do. Lock her up there until further notice." With a flick of his fan, Shen had her dismissed from his presence while he began intent study of a map on one board.

As Merida was escorted out of the octagonal office, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. She roughly yanked away, thinking it was one of the hoodlums, only to discover that it was the old woman that she had seen earlier. In closer proximity, Merida could smell the scent of incense wafting off the old woman and saw the wooden talisman hanging around her neck. In a soft, yet urgent voice, the woman croaked said, "To follow after the darkness is to lose yourself."

The redhead blinked at the bizarre station. " 'scuse me?"

"The path of the Bear King is one ridden with turmoil and tragedy," the old woman intoned, shaking her cup of incense emphatically. "The costs are dear, yet the rewards are poor. Cease this recklessness, lest you lose what you still have."

She could have easily assumed that the old goat was yakking gibberish if the 'Bear King' had not mentioned. This was not the first time Merida had heard of the term, though she still wasn't exactly sure who the 'Bear King' referred to. It was likely, however, that the title was tied with the pendant that the Wisp wore.

"That's quite enough, Soothsayer," Da Lang growled at the old woman, who cast an angry glare in return. "We've got no time for this nonsense."

As Merida was yanked away in her cuffs, she found that odd rhyme ringing in her head again -

 _'Follow steps of the Bear King,_

 _Follow his hunting call,_

 _Follow his ride to battle,_

 _Follow him to his fall...'_

* * *

Her clinic cleared its last patient at half-past six. The receptionist for the day had begun calculating the day's earnings against the amount collecting. Dr. Nithya Kadni - or perhaps by the name that we know her better as - Tooth herself was still seated in the privacy of the empty consult room, running over the contacts list in her phone.

As she ran down the numbers, she found the name she was looking for. Staring at it for a brief moment, Tooth clicked on the name 'Tharshini'. As the phone entered into call mode, she lifted it to her ear, tapping her nails against the table in anticipation.

A minute of waiting later, the call wasn't picked up. The mechanical voice on the line told her to leave a message after the dial tone, so after a moment of thought, Tooth did.

"Hey. It's me," she started awkwardly, driving her nail into table as she shifted herself. "Sorry that I haven't called in a while. It's been a rather distracting week on this side."

It did hit her how much she was understating it all, what with Jack's return to some imposter pretending to be him, but there were some details that were best kept secret, especially from her own flesh and blood.

"But yeah, everything's been okay. Unlike what your father says, not everyone who lives here goes crazy."

Her words faded for a moment as she straightened out the photo-frame on her work desk. It depicted a much younger version of herself holding up a little girl, who was at that moment absorbed in extinguishing the four candles of her birthday cake.

"I haven't heard from you for a while. I guess you've got school, and I've got work, but I'm hoping that, well,-" Tooth took in a breath, peeling the phone from one ear before slipping it over the other "-maybe we could meet up sometime? I heard you'll be quite busy this spring, but what about summer? We can do anything you like. Don't worry - I'm not a fuss like your father."

She made a little jingling laugh that she didn't quite feel.

"Let me know when you can. Email, text, messenger - anything goes."

She then moved over to more recent picture that she had just printed out - one of scene that she did not witness herself, but greatly wished that she had. Tharshini was there, top in her class for that year. A daughter of a neurosurgeon and a dentist couldn't be an idiot, after all, even she hadn't spoken a word since she was four.

"Just remember - I'm very proud of you."

Tooth then hung up the phone, picking her handbag and begun to make her way out of the consult room. Under her arm, she carried the staff, which had its crooked head wrapped in newspaper. Like Jack had said, it was not difficult to disguise it to look like a broom, except that as a middle-aged woman carrying it, she was less likely to get questions about it compared to him.

Uttering a farewell greeting to the receptionist, Tooth headed out of the clinic through the backdoor. She had one foot out onto the gravel when her phone buzzed with a message, informing her that quite a sizable sum had been deducted from her credit card. She had been expecting such to receive such a message, for the clothes she had bought for Jack's disguise had been quite pricey. However, the amount shown on the screen was at least five times what she had spent.

In the back of her head, a suspicion was roused. She quickly rummaged her handbag for her wallet and checked its contents. Unable to find what she was looking for, Tooth darted back into the clinic, dashing over the reception desk, where the girl working there jumped in surprise to see her boss' return.

Tooth didn't dally with her question. "Did someone come in today?"

The receptionist was puzzled. "Well, we had fifteen patients this afternoon, Dr. Kadni."

"No, I mean, was there a non-patient who came in?"

"Oh, um,-" the girl floundered a little "-well, your son came in just now. He said he wanted to talk to you, but it wasn't urgent, so he said he'd wait in one of the empty consult rooms. Then after about an half-hour, he said forget it and he left. And then I did forget it-"

"You left him _alone_?" Tooth was aghast.

The receptionist turned defensive. "Well, Doctor, I had to man the desk. Your son's a grown man. I didn't think he needed supervision."

He did need supervision, especially if her 'son' was who she thought he was.

Tooth wasted no time in the clinic anymore, darting to back to the back alley. Her fingers darted across the phone screen, selecting another number from her contact list. Her heels met the gravel with crushing stomps down as she waited for the call to be received.

A laidback voice was what greeted her, _"Mother Thia! What a pleasant surprise! How are you doing this fine evening?"_

Tooth was not deceived by the cheeriness in his tone. "Flynn, did you steal by my credit card?"

 _"Your credit card?"_ There was a note of surprise in his voice. _"Why, of course not. That would imply that I only stole one."_

Teeming with fury, she rested the phone against her shoulder, using her two free hands to flipped open the leather pocket book once more. After counting the cards, she let out a series of swears in her native tongue.

 _"You know that feeling you have right now? How I felt yesterday night was like three times worse."_

Ignoring what he said, the fuming dentist raged at the phone, "Is that your answer to everything? When in doubt, just steal things?"

 _"Probably,"_ was the nonchalant reply. _"But F.Y.I., I do need the money. I'm kind of broke."_

"Why can't you try to make an honest living for a change, Flynn?" Tooth sighed, rubbing her forehead as she dejectedly went down the alley. In the old days, with her full strength of telepathic powers, she would have been able to root out his position and give him a thorough dressing down. Unfortunately, she didn't have that ability anymore and she couldn't even trace him down via GPS because she didn't know how to use that darned app. Jamie never quite finished teaching her.

There was a silence on the other line, where she had hoped was a repentant pause, but then - _"Being a hitman isn't exactly what an honest living."_

"You don't need to be a hitman if you don't want to," Tooth muttered as she stepped out to the open road. She didn't want passerbys to overhear her conversation, but she wouldn't be surprised if they did hear and not care. In Burgeshima, it didn't pay to care about business that wasn't yours.

 _"Right, I should be a conman, or an embezzler, or join the racketeering ring,"_ she heard him answer bitterly. _"Whoopee."_

"Why not be like me?" she questioned. "If you finished your education, you could be a teacher, or a writer, or anything you wanted!"

 _"Anything but free,"_ was the sharp retort. _"I'll forever be bound to the Nightmare Yakuza and kissing the Kumicho's boots like you."_

Indignation shot up her system. "Excuse me?"

 _"You sold me out to the other Kumi-in. Don't think I don't know. They enjoyed rubbing it in my face."_

"You committed a crime without being given orders to do so," she protested, crossing her arms as she did, deliberately burying the guilt that in her chest deep down. "I'm your _senpai_ , Flynn. I'm in charge of your discipline."

 _"You're a bootlicker, Thia. You're scared of the Yakuza - you're afraid of wronging them."_ There was no sarcasm, or mockery, just pure anger infused in every syllable. _"I'm kinda sorry for Jamie and Sophie. Bet they don't know that you'd double-cross them in a blink if you had to."_

"I wouldn't," she contradicted adamantly.

 _"If it really comes down to it and you had to pick one, would it be Jamie or that kid of yours?_ _"_ When she didn't answer, he spat out with obvious disgust, _"I thought so. No matter what you might say, Thia, in your heart, there's only one kid you really love. The rest of us are just hole-fillers until you get her back._ _"_

He hung up before she had a chance to defend herself. Yet, was there anything to defend?

Tooth shook her head hard, her heels clacking against concrete. A few seconds later, she slapped her forehead and began dialing up all the banks she had. Her call with Flynn had almost made her forget to cancel her credit cards.

The childcare centre was six blocks down the road off from the clinic in the direction opposite to that of the apartment. Usually she'd ask Flynn to pick Sophie up, since the barber's was much nearer. Of course, if the rumors were correct, the young man was no longer employed, as part of his punishment. With the three thousand and five hundred that he had managed to procure from her accounts though, she didn't allow herself to feel too much sympathy.

Tooth arrived at the destination just as she finished making the last call. After pushing open the glass door of the small childcare centre, she was greeted by a very relieved teacher. All the other children had already been collected by their parents, and the lady in charge was very eager to close the place up.

"Your daughter's in the playroom, Dr. Kadni," she told her. Tooth didn't try to correct her.

Sophie was slumped against a pile of pillows, fast asleep with Mr. Hops squeezed in her grip. Tooth carefully kneeled herself down, before rocking the girl by the shoulders.

"Sop-hie," she whispered in a low singsong voice. "It's time go, dear."

The child stirred, a blissful smile stretching itself between her two ruddy cheeks. She lifted her two arms, one hand still holding Mr. Hops, while the huge eyes widened themselves at the sight of her guardian.

"Mar-mar!" At once, thin arms latched themselves to Tooth's neck. The teacher watching on 'awww-ed' right on schedule. Again, Tooth didn't have the heart to correct her, and that heart was heavy indeed.

As adorable as the sight was, it meant that her shoulder had become the girl's new pillow. So, rather awkwardly, Tooth left the centre carrying the child with one hand and gripping the disguised staff in the other. Sophie was a heavy toddler, turning each step into a stagger combined with a large inhale.

"Looks like you could use a lift, m'am."

Her head jerked up. The speaker was seated in a car waiting on the road, lights blinking. The driver's window was rolled down halfway and behind the reflective glass was a thin, elegant woman with white hair. She sat behind the wheel, sunglasses perched over her head.

Tooth stiffened. "That's very kind of you to offer."

"It's nothing." The woman gave her a beam that seemed almost predatory. "Why not just hop in the backseat? I'll take you where you need to go."

It sounded like an invitation – keyword being 'sounded' and not 'was'.

With much reluctance, Tooth entered the car through the back door. She laid the wrapped staff across the empty left seat, then plopped herself and her snoozing charge on the right. It was impossible to put on the seatbelt like this, so Tooth merely twirled one arm around the belt strap and held on to it. The driver for the silver Mustang then started up her engine and took them down the road.

After a moment of silence, Tooth spoke up, "What are you doing here, M?"

The woman with white hair merely gave a sly smile that was reflected through the rear window. "My sources tell me that you've done something that much admired in through Black's Circle. It's spreading throughout the Yakuza about how a _senpai_ willingly gave her _kohai_ over for punishment."

Tooth ran a gentle hand through Sophie's golden strand, a contrast to the grimness in her expression. "I betrayed him."

"You demonstrated that you honored the ways of the Yakuza, which your _kohai_ did not. Many have said that it was high time he got punished anyway." The frost-haired woman gave a nonchalant shrug as she slowed the car at the red light. "You use your tools well."

"He's a person," Tooth argued, her fingers unknowingly hooking onto the yellow strands of the girl's head, making Sophie squirm in discomfort. She quickly released her grip and the child settled once again in her arms.

"He's a criminal," M corrected brusquely, starting the Mustang again. "And when the Yakuza crumbles, he'll join his comrades behind bars. It's not like you're making his life any worse than it is."

"Perhaps." The harsh words that he had uttered to her earlier rang in her head, and she clutched Sophie closer to her. "But I certainly didn't try to make it better."

M didn't seem to hear her. "Anyway, there's a special gala happening at the Hotel Kurokuro tomorrow evening - a rather exclusive, invitation-only event. Word on the street is that a place just opened up for a certain lady dentist."

At this news, Tooth's jaw fell open. "But the gala - the numbers of seat are extremely limited. There's no way they can squeeze me in last minute."

"Well,-" M tapped the sides of her wheel smugly "-you do realize that one of their inner circle just passed away in a terrorist attack in San Fransokyo?"

Tooth reclined herself carefully on the seat, asking with narrowed eyes, "By any chance, was the NSA involved in the San Fransokyo tragedy?"

The white-haired driver let out a chortle. "If this was my old employer, that'd have been a possibility. But to answer your question-" she shook her head. "The National Supers Agency keeps its hands clean from crime. Too many ex- and present Supers in the agency."

As the car swerved around a curb that Tooth was familiar with, she questioned the driver, "What do you want me to do?"

"Get names, and better yet, faces to go with those names," the woman informed her. "It's easier to persecute them in court with solid evidence over witnesses." She jerked her chin towards the left. "There's a box in the back compartment. It's yours."

Maneuvering herself while still holding Sophie, Tooth found the aforementioned box in the back pocket of the front seat. Pressing on the groove along the edge of the box, it flipped open. Its contents made Tooth raise a brow.

"I feel vaguely as if I've been transported into a Mission Impossible show," she said wryly, stroking the metal brooch sitting on the velvet plush. It was in the shape of a hummingbird, its wings spread apart and its feathers studded with green crystals. The crystal that made its eye had an extremely tiny hole drilled into it, which was where Tooth presumed the camera was fitted.

"You have to activate it only after you've passed through security check points. If not, scanners will go berserk." M told her as the Mustang drove up towards the walkway, at a street that Tooth knew was just a turn from her apartment. "The switch's by twisting the lowest right feather of the bird around. It records via video. I'll be driving you back tomorrow night and you can pass it to me them."

"Can't this bluetooth this your phone or something?" Tooth meant it as a light joke, but M took it as a real question.

"The Yakuza has ears into all wireless communication that goes on in this city," the white-haired woman said. "We don't know who's the brains behind it yet. Hopefully you can find that out tomorrow. Oh, if you can pick out any 'evil plots' at the same time, that'd be lovely."

"They're not going to talk about their 'evil plots' in front of me," Tooth commented dismissively, rolling hers at the term. "I'm too low down the ranks, honestly."

"Oh, I meant using-" M made a gesture towards her temple.

Tooth scowled. "I lost my powers twenty years ago, if you can't remember, so don't count it."

"It's worth a try," the driver said a bit too brightly.

Tooth swung open the car door and prepared to emerge with Sophie still clutching to her like a Koala on an Eucalyptus. She then remembered the disguised staff and reached for it.

As she did, M remarked quite casually, "Don't know if you've seen it, but there's a viral video going about an old friend of yours - that alien boy with the ice powers? He was apparently seen in Burgeshima just yesterday night, playing the heroics. I was just wondering if you know anything about it."

Tooth immediately tensed up, her fingers gripping the barely-disguised staff. "No," her answer was without hesitation. "I had no idea."

M appraised her for a moment, eyeing the disguised staff. Tooth swallowed a hasty breath.

Finally, M said, "Well, let us know if you do. You know that the Anti-Hero Act is still implemented in most places, even here. It's pity though that more Supers can't be like you and save the world the legal way."

"You mean the way the government prefers," was a retort that Tooth could not keep from spitting out. She held Sophie more tightly to herself.

"Whatever makes you feel better." The white-haired woman was undaunted by the coldness. "Have a pleasant evening."

Tooth thought that she couldn't be happier than to leave that silver Mustang and its wry-humored driver, but when she went around the corner, bearing her napping ward and the wrapped staff, she found herself looking upon the epitome of organized chaos.

Red and blue light from the ambulance and police cars illuminated the apartment building against the gaze of the setting sun. Men in uniform of navy blue and ebony black were everywhere. Medics were carefully lowering a stretcher through the doorway and down the steps, where more medics awaited to guide them into the ambulance.

Tooth heard the utterance of Japanese and found this to come from a group of gentlemen in black. By the fluency of their speech and the rigidness of their manner, she was certain that black tattoos marked their skins under the black coats. The Yakuza was never openly involved, unless it was a Yakuza matter.

Oh, no, no, no. _Jack!_

She managed to squeeze her and Sophie past the officers and the Yakuza members and through the entrance of the building. She hurried up the steps, almost bumping into a policeman or a Yakuza member as she did. By the time she reached apartment 302, her arms were shaking. She was about to search her pockets for her key when she discovered, to her horror, that the door was already ajar.

She shoved it open using the staff, crying out in panic, "Ja-"

She cut herself off as she found her living room occupied by three gentlemen dressed in formal suits. One of them stood right in front of Jamie, who seated in armchair. He was still wearing his Judo uniform, which meant that these _kumi-in_ had come in sometime in the afternoon, leaving the boy no chance to change out.

Her frantic ascent up the stairs had awoken the child in her arms and the blonde girl was whining softly rubbing her eyes. Gently, Tooth lowered the waking Sophie to the ground, helping her to get steady on her feet. Then, the Indian woman faced the suited men.

"What's going on?" she asked, leaning the wrapped staff against the kitchen wall as inconspicuously as possible.

The armed _kumi-in_ , the foot-soldiers of the Yakuza, met her with a bow. The highest ranking amongst them, who was also the one standing before Jamie, spoke to her, "Forgive us for this intrusion, Kadni- _sensei_ , but most unfortunately, a terrible thing has occurred in apartment 502. One of our brothers was murdered, though the time is not yet confirmed. We're just questioning potential witnesses."

Tooth cast a glance at Jamie. The boy, while slightly pale from shock, didn't appear to be extremely afraid of his 'older brothers'. He was able to look straight at her and say, "I didn't hear or see anything. Honest."

"A real pity," the _kumi-in_ lamented, but his expression did not match his words in sincerity. He was suspicious. "It'd help greatly if we had better … cooperation." He peered closely at Tooth, waiting for an indication that her ward was lying.

Tooth only said, "Jamie's a good boy. If he said he didn't see anything, he didn't see anything."

With a slight jerk of head, the leader of this group signaled to his colleagues that they were done. All the uniformed men marched themselves through the door. Tooth pulled Sophie away from them, subtly inching herself towards Jamie.

"Oh, I almost forgot." The head _kumi-in_ paused his exit, spinning towards her. He opened the flap of his coat and removed a thin envelope, presenting this to her. "A message from our lord, the _Kumicho_. He would be greatly honored by your presence tomorrow evening at the grand gala."

"The _K-kumicho_ is very kind," was all Tooth could stammer out. The _kumi-in_ gave her a bow, before joining his comrades outside. The beating of her heart only steadied after she had front door pressed shut, locked tight behind her.

Letting out a loud exhale, Tooth ran over to Jamie, who still seemed stunned by the whole turn of events. The glittering envelope that she had just given was tossed on the tea table as she went down on her knees before the boy.

"Are you alright?" Tooth asked, unconsciously straightening out his white uniform. "Were they mean to you? What did they say?"

The boy didn't heed her question, hissing anxiously instead, "They think Flynn did it."

Tooth froze. "What?"

"They think Flynn murdered him," the boy elucidated in alarm. "The murdered guy was one of the dudes who carried out the punishment on him. Now, they're looking for Flynn." His smaller hands pressed against her arms so hard that they might have left prints. "Thia, I think they're going to kill him!"

Tooth wasted no time picking Sophie up and thrusting to her brother, then scrambled for the phone in her handbag. Her fingerprint unlocked the screen and she was in such a rush that she keyed the number straight in instead of searching for it in the database.

As she feared, there was no answer.

"Thia?" she heard Jamie say. "There's also something I want to ask you about Jack. Is it true that he-"

"Not now, Jamie," she cut him off purposely, heading straight towards her bedroom and keeping the phone next to her ear, even if all she heard was a dial tone. It was only then that she realized that Jack wasn't around. Good. Hopefully that meant that he avoided the _kumi-in._ That, and all of Jamie's questions and guesses - guesses that were probably far too accurate.

"But-" Tooth closed the bedroom door before he could follow in after her, locking it as she did. She could only deal with one of her boys at a time.

Flynn, however, refused to pick up. With each consecutive failed call Tooth got, she wondered if he was ignoring them on purpose or whether he had already run into trouble.

It took about an hour before she emerged from the room, feeling defeated and extremely withdrawn. She went down the corridor to the children's bedroom, pushing its door open. "Jamie?"

There was no answer for there was no one there.

It was then that Tooth heard the sound of the television running in the living room, so she hustled over there instead, calling out again, "Jamie?"

There was no boy, only a little blonde girl, snuggled up on the sofa with Mr. Hops in her arms and a thumb in her mouth. A cartoon about a mouse who wore red shorts and walked an orange dog was showing on the television, so no wonder Sophie was bored back to sleep. Tooth made a mental note to awaken the girl to brush her teeth before going to bed.

"Jamie?" He wasn't in the kitchen, but while walking past the fridge, she found a small note attached to its facade. She pulled the magnet off it to read the scribbles:

 _Thia:_

 _BRB ASAP._

 _Jamie_

There had never been a more uninformative note. That was, until Tooth realize that the disguised staff was no longer leaning at the spot that she had left it.

Her first instinct was to run for the apartment door, but then she stopped herself halfway. Jamie would have been long gone by now, and there was no way she could track him down. She sank herself on one of armchair, feeling even haggard and lost than before. If she had the strength of her old powers, she would be able to reach out to their minds, find them and even take them somewhere else – somewhere they'd be safe.

But, no. Like every other ordinary human being, she sat at the dining table, only able to hope that wherever her boys were, they'd know how to look after themselves.

* * *

The dining room of the _shiro_ consisted one long lacquered black table that stretched from the entrance all the way to the back, where the gold and black drapery bore the _kanji_ words '誉' and '忠', meaning honor and loyalty respectively. Padded cushioning went all around the table, so that diners could kneel by the table without bruising themselves (though whether the legs attached to those knees might go to sleep by the end of the meal was another story altogether). The cutlery was either vanished wood or carved silver, all polished till they gleamed. The recurring motif was of horses, from the horse-shaped ends of the spoon, to the black and white tapestry of horses that hung from one of the decorative scrolls.

Anna was rocking herself back and forth, admiring chandelier that hung over their heads. It had electrical lighting, not candles, but it was still mesmerizing to watch the crystals glistening above her, especially with its sparkles reflecting off the mother-of-pearl inlays of the table.

"Would you stop fidgeting?" she told her companion, who nervously tapped his fingers against the edge of that very same gorgeous table. She thought he would be better doing something conducive - like admiring their surroundings, the way she did.

Upon their arrival and a very thorough security check, both of them were directed to bathrooms (separate ones, of course) because, as the woman who met them had said, they were rather 'fragrant'. Well, they did spend a few hours on in a stuffy, grime-laced jail cell.

They had each been loaned a set of yukatas dress into, which the attendants had told them was a gift. Kristoff didn't believe them and told her that it had to be some kind of elaborate scam. Anna rather hoped that he was wrong, for she did like the floral print of the green robe against her fair skin and the silky satin hugged her figure quite comfortably. Her partner was less enthusiastic about his own attire, constantly tugging at the collar of his robe. This action he alternated with him tapping his fingers on the edge of the lacquered table. _Again._

"I don't like this," he muttered to her for perhaps the fifth time since their arrival.

Anna was starting to get cross with him. Sure, they did get dragged back to Burgeshima and yes, they were thrown into jail, but now they were in this _incredible_ \- _creepy_ , but still _incredible_ \- castle that had servants and tapestries and everything! It was as if they had stumbled into a period drama and joined the cast! Wasn't it exciting?

"Why don't you just relax, Kristoff?" she recommended, finding his anxiety to be quite tiresome. "Worrying's not going to help anything."

"Well, how can I not worry?" he hissed to her, his eyes darting suspiciously at the attendants that stood against the paper and wood walls of the dining hall, straight and unflinching like statues. "They brought us here for a reason, and it's not a good reason. I can feel it."

"They brought us here for dinner," Anna corrected with an air of superiority. She gestured to the gleaming porcelain set before them, picking up the cup. Breathing in the aroma with a beam, she took a sip of the green tea, pretending that she was a cultured little princess preparing for a fine meal. "C'mon, try to enjoy yourself a little."

"Sure, enjoy yourself," she heard him grumble unappreciatively, "but for all you know, your liver's the main course and your legs for supper."

"Is there anything that you think positive about?" she chided him with a sigh.

Kristoff contemplated this for a while, then said, "I'm positive that this is won't end well."

Why couldn't she have a partner who had at least a little more optimism than a sludge bucket?

Any further scolding Anna wanted to wreck upon the blonde intern never left her lips, for then the doors of the dining hall slid open. One attendant then announced, _"Kumicho-sama Tōchaku."_

Both guests of the _shiro_ hastily scrambled to their feet. They had been told earlier that when their host entered the hall, they needed to give a bow as a greeting. Anna dipped her body forward in a ninety-degree, as she had been taught in elementary school, but when she raised her head slightly to see their bailer's face for the first time, the chill running up her spine almost knocked her off her feet. The use of the title _'kumicho'_ suddenly made sense.

He was pale and gaunt, with a pointed nose and thin lips that had many occasions worn an unkind smile. His chin was sharp and his jaw angular. His eyes were as cold as a snake's. In the dark kimono that he wore, Anna could almost swear that she saw shadows shifting in them - shadows that reflected off the horse-shaped pins over his chest. But all these were not what really captured Anna's attention. She realized that she knew this man – if he could be called a man - for she had seen its likeness painted in the books she had read as a child and the photographs she had studied as a teen.

The attendant who had announced the arrival began to introduce them to his master, " _Kumicho-sama_ , these are the reporters, Mr. Kristoff Bjorgman," Kristoff gave an uncertain nod, "and Miss Arendelle." Turning to them, he said, "I present, his honor, the _Kumicho_ -"

"Pitch Black, the Boogeyman," Anna finished aloud without really thinking.

The glassy eyes of the shadowy man flitted to her, scrutinizing her with interest. Kristoff's own pupils were pinned on her, but his expression was one of horror instead. The attendant was stunned by the interruption, and quickly shuffled back, not wishing to be involved in any possible conflict.

Finally, the dark man said in an amused manner, "That's a title I haven't heard for a long time. I certainly didn't expect to hear it from someone your age." His countenance turned colder as thin bloodless lips stretched to a grin, making Anna's stomach churn.

This was the villain who held his own against the Guardians back in the day. This was one who, people said, single-handedly turned Burgeshima from a paradise into a hell-hole. Upon the exodus of its heroes, he built his own Yakuza and slaughtered his rivals. It was said that he could read the fears of an individual just by looking into their eyes, and he could make those fears reality with a wave of his hand. Some had postulated that with his phobia-inducing abilities, he might have even imbued the fear of Supers in the populace that lead to formation of the Anti-Hero Act.

A defiler of angels. A murderer of innocents. A corrupter of dreams.

"Won't you sit?" Pitch told them.

Anna sunk herself back down to her knees, her limbs feeling absurdly weak anyway. Next to her, she could feel the rigidness radiating of Kristoff, but no longer felt that it was unfounded. Her hands were shaking, almost knocking off her bowl over. Her host took a seat at the head of the table, on her left. On cue, the serving attendants laid out the first dish before each diner - a selection of finely sliced s _ashimi_ , served with wasabi, ginger and soy sauce, all in individual and elegant trays. Anna's joy in the aesthetic presentation however had been significantly diminished.

"If there's anything else that you need, just tell the servants," their host said with in jarringly cordial tone. "You are my guests, so please make yourself at home."

"You're too kind," she murmured, staring a bit distrustfully at the dish before her. She was never a big fan of raw fish, and she was even less a fan of the one whom provided it.

Kristoff, despite his earlier apprehension about their position, didn't let his fear interfere with his appetite. When she saw that he was attacking the fish slices with much enthusiasm, Anna subtly shifted her own dish towards him. He raised a brow at her, then shrugged as if to say 'your loss.'

"Forgive me, _Kumicho-sama_ ," the girl said, wringing her fingers under the table and not quite being able to meet the eyes of this imposing figure that she had read so much about and had never dreamed of meeting, "but why are we here?"

A soundless laugh left the lips of her ash-skinned host. "Well, Anna - may I call you Anna? - it's so happened that this morning while I was running my ordinary day to day business, one of my men brought to my attention a rather unique piece of news article published by a pair of rookie reporters from Arenashi." The bony, slender fingers that curled around his cup reminded her quite unpleasantly of a spider's legs spinning webs around its prey. "I did hear about the whole part of you both getting tossed into jail. Nasty business, I felt. I'm quite sorry that you had to go through all that." Pitch did not, however, look sorry. In a matter of fact, it finally hit Anna that the whole business of them being thrown in the jail was probably of his design. But to what end?

"Yeah, well, actually," Kristoff put in before she could say anything, "why were we even thrown into jail? I mean, rights of the Press? First amendment?"

"Licensing here taken very seriously," their host explained with remarkable patience. "In the past, the gangs all over the city fought over the allegiances of the news publishers - some using bribes, other with threats. Public image was a valuable commodity, after all. It didn't determined if people trusted you, if partners would cooperate with you, if foes would _fear_ you. Licensing was introduced as a way to curtail and control the type of news published here."

"That's allowed?" The boy had a skeptical look on his face.

Pitch merely gave a small smile. "A minor concession to avoid conflict, don't you think?"

"And I suppose your people distribute those licenses?" Anna said, in such a quiet voice that it could barely be heard. It made sense. As the dominant gang of Burgeshima, the Nightmare Yakuza probably bought up the news companies here to monitor them. The licenses were just a farce to hide their censorship over the news that came in and went out of the city. Pro-Yakuza sentiments were probably littered everywhere, while pro-Supers material was banned ; psychological warfare in its most basic form.

The _Kumicho_ eyed her with a cynical expression. "You certainly are a sharp one, my dear."

It was then that the dining doors slid open once again and the muffled sound of steps against the carpeted floorboard told Anna that another had entered the dining hall.

"Ah," the ex-super villain directed their attention to a young woman who, after giving them each curt nod, kneeled herself down to his right without much ceremony, "Anna, Mr Bjorgman - what's your name? Kristoff, isn't it? - may I present to you my daughter, Elsa."

In her mind, Anna imagined that the daughter of the Boogeyman would have a greyish complexion, like him. Her hair would be jet-black and splayed overhead like a crown of thorns. She would have wicked, golden eyes that danced with mischief and claw-like hands sharp enough to scratch out eyes from their sockets.

'Elsa', as she was called, was nothing like that. Her hair was whiter than gold, and her skin was fairer than snow. Her eyes were like sapphires held against the light, if only a little sad. A single glance was all that was needed to confirm that the daughter of the Boogeyman bore very little resemblance to her father.

In a matter of fact, Anna couldn't help but feel that the young woman kneeling across her in the pale blue kimono bore more resemblance to her own late mother rather than the Nightmare King.

* * *

What was she doing here?

She thought she had left her sister on the alley way in between Shirogane Street and Nagka Central. What was she doing here?

More importantly - did she know?

Elsa had to fight the urge to flee the dining hall. It would be considered highly improper for her to do so after just taking her spot, and her father would certainly have many questions about it.

Her father...

Her eyes darted towards him, his collected smile not reflecting how harshly his gold eyes judged her.

Did he know?

"Elsa, this is Anna Arendelle and Kristoff Bjorgman." Both of them gave an awkward nod upon their introduction. Elsa recognized the blonde fellow as the one who was with Anna the night before. She had assumed him to be a friend, or boyfriend, possibly. She didn't exactly stay to find out. "Both of them were the ones who published the news story about Jack Frost."

"Jack Frost?" Elsa repeated, shoulders tensing up. She peered hard her father, trying to read his face. Did he make the link between Anna and herself? Did he realize who this girl with red-brown braids was?

"Please forgive my daughter's ignorance," Pitch told the duo who were kneeling across her. "She doesn't use electronics much. I'm afraid she quite out of the loop from the norm."

That was true. At first, it was because it took too much effort to set up a phone before she froze it again. Then, it became that she didn't have anyone else to text, tag or poke. Elsa didn't exactly have friends, both out of choice and out of circumstance. Telling people that your father was a Yakuza boss had that kind of effect.

"What's this about Jack Frost?" she asked, picking her chopsticks carefully with her gloved fingers. Usually she took them off during meals, but with her sister sitting just five feet away from her, it would be quite impossible to stay here without some psychosomatic comforts. What's worse was how Anna stared her, as if trying to fit a puzzle together. It was a very uncomfortable position.

"Well, it's just that Anna and I ran into some ice-powered vigilante yesterday night," Anna's blonde companion - Christopher, was it? No, it had a more Norwegian flair to it. Kristoff. Yes, Kristoff - answered her, rubbing his neck in a bashful manner. "I kind of posted a video on it online, and Anna wrote an article about it. It's sort of an internet sensation right now, which is pretty cool."

"You did?" Elsa said, unintentionally looking into Anna's eyes. She cursed herself - what if Anna recognized them from last night? What if she said anything now?

Her long-lost sister, who hopefully still didn't know that she was her sister, then nodded and said, "Yep, I wrote it. Erm,-" rubbing her chin, "-just to ask, have we met before?"

"I rather doubt that," Elsa answered quickly, looking away as she did. "I've never been to Arenashi." Turning sharply to her left - "Father, might I speak to you for a minute outside?" It was highly indecorous for her to make request of him, or even speak to him, in such a manner, but if she didn't leave the dining hall right soon, the floorboard might very well explode in spikes of ice.

Her father frowned at her. "Surely, whatever it is, it can be left till later." He inclined his head slightly towards their guests - their guests who included _her birth sister_. It would be rude for the hosts to leave their guests half-way through a meal.

But Elsa would not back down. "Please."

He gazed down upon her in annoyance, and sighed.

He knew. He definitely knew.

Finally, he said then to their guests, with a smile that did not quite meet his eyes, "Please continue eating." Anna's blonde companion nodded in a way that meant that he intended to. "My daughter and I will back shortly."

Both of them rose from their seats. Fortunately for her sister, she and her companion were not complete idiots about traditional etiquette and rose quickly at the same time, bowing before their hosts who glided out of the dining hall.

* * *

"Kristoff, does she look familiar to you?" Anna asked the boy sitting next to her.

He was quite absorbed in digging into the raw fish. After all, with his meagre salary - if it could be called a salary at all - who knows when he would eat such fancy food again? Hence, he focused on the food and just said indifferently, "Can't say that I do."

"Because I'm pretty sure I've seen somewhere," the girl went on, throwing decorum in the wind as she leaned an elbow on the lacquered table, resting her chin in her palm.

"Well, she's pretty enough to be an actress or a model," was Kristoff's own opinion. He twisted himself around waving to one of the attendants standing at the back of the room, then pointing at his and Anna's empty plates. "Do you mind getting me more?"

The server bowed to him before moving steadily out of the dining hall.

"No, no, I don't think so," he heard Anna musing as he turned himself back around. "She isn't 'celebrity' kind of familiar. No, she's someone else."

"Maybe she's one of those Supers you're always blabbing about," he suggested flippantly as a plate of neatly sliced sashimi was set before him and the old plates removed. "Wow, thanks. That was quick."

"She's too young to be a Golden-age Super," Anna scoffed, but the way she clutched her chopsticks together showed that she was genuinely considering it. "Then again, the Boogeyman looks much younger than he is."

"Why do you call him that?" he inquired with a critical look while slicing himself a generous helping of wasabi from the central dish.

"Because he is, well, was _the_ Boogeyman, greatest foe of the Guardians," Anna told him irritably, glaring at him. He stared blankly at her. "Don't you know anything?"

"Hey, you're the Supers geek." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just the camera dude."

"You're useless," she growled at him, rubbing her forehead emphatically. "I swear, I've seen her before. Those eyes - why do I know them?"

The girl with the braids began chewing on her nails as she pondered this furiously. Kristoff just thought it was a pity that she wasted her jaw muscles chomping on something that wasn't the freshest sashimi that he had ever tasted.

"Wait-" she suddenly sat upright, digging into her yukata the way she would dig into her jeans, only to remember that she was in a yukata and _not_ her jeans. "Urgh! No phones! This is killing me."

He couldn't help but throw her words back at her. "Why don't you just relax? Here,-" he held a piece of raw fish in front of her "-salmon?"

She only groaned and buried her face in her palms.

Kristoff shrugged and shoved the piece in his mouth. This was excellent! If only he could take a plate back to Sven, though the his best pal might not appreciate raw fish as much as a good raw carrot. Still, this was really great sashimi. It'd be a waste if his good old German Shepherd didn't get to sample just a little.

Hang a second...

Kristoff spun around to the waiters. "Hey, do you guys do takeaways?"

* * *

"What's she doing here, Father?" Elsa questioned him once the door was drawn shut. The temperature in the corridor had fallen quite significantly.

He cocked his head at her, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "I'm sorry that you have an issue with my guests, my dear daughter, though it's _hardly_ your place to do so."

"You know who she is as well as I, so let's not beat around the bush here," she hissed at him with vehemence she rarely displayed. "Why did you invite her here?"

"She happened to a witness to the reappearance of an old foe of mine." His voice was deceptively calm. Inside, ire had been struck, but he still kept a lid on it. A raise voice could be heard through the walls. "You really need to stop thinking that everything I do is some kind of revenge plot against you. You're hardly my whole world, you know."

" _Jack Frost_ , father!" His daughter chose to moment to pace the corridor, gripping her gloves anxiously. "You honestly think that he has returned? After all these years?"

"Why not?" Pitch countered, his voice raised slightly. "This was his first place of refuge. Weak sentimentality would draw him back eventually."

"Well, I happen to think that this notion that you've concocted in your head is foolish – very foolish," Elsa spat out, shoes still clacking against the wooden boards. "Any fool can dress up as a hero."

Pitch narrowed his gaze. "Well, I happen not to care about what you think. Besides, your _sister_ -" he allowed himself a biting sneer "-seems quite convinced it's him, and considering that she had met him before, I'd say she's a fairly reliable source."

She paused her pacing to look at him directly, searching him for, well, something. He wondered what was it that bothered her - what was it that _scared_ her. How he wished sometimes that he could delve into her subconscious and read her the way he could read others. But for all her bold actions and haughty manners, he guessed that his daughter's fears were probably tasteless, pathetic little worries that she blew up in her mind. She was quite ridiculous that way.

Perhaps it was better that he didn't know what went on in that mind of hers. He had his own demons to fight - he didn't need more.

Speaking of fighting demons -

"Don't you worry about your sister. I'm not going to hurt her," he told her quite frankly. He could see Elsa's shoulders relax, but her arms were still raised slightly, as if in anticipation of a catch. "I just want Jack Frost."

She assessed him for a silent minute - perhaps a bit longer – while a crystalline sheen crept on along the ground. Then, Elsa let out a heavy exhale, dropping her arms by her sides. The ice ceased its spread at the same time

"You shouldn't have let me attend the dinner," she said quietly, looking away from him now. Her two covered arms wrung around each other, twined in a tight knot of control. "I think she recognized me."

"Just deny everything. You do know how to lie, don't you? Or is that one of those _unholy_ acts you're not allowed to commit?" His tone was cuttingly taunting, but his attack seemed to go unnoticed. The girl merely stared into the wall, face contorted in fear.

Pitch let out a sigh, resigned. He said then in a lower voice, "I just thought you'd want to see your blood family again."

He watched her bite her lip, before answering, "If I wanted to return to them, I should have it years ago. Now, there's only Anna left." She stared down at her gloved palms, then clenched them and buried them in her chests. "I have to keep her safe - away from me." Her expression was a mixture of determination and pleading. "I can't let her realize the truth. If she does, she'll never leave."

His bland expression didn't reveal the relief that flooded inside him. He merely tilted his head slightly to the side. "You can go if you want to."

"Thank you." Gratefulness filled her eyes, and Elsa even gave him a watery, but thankful smile. For a moment, he imagined that she might even have embraced him, but being the well-trained young woman she was, she offered to him a sturdy bow instead. She quickly turned on her heel, hurrying down the corridor with her kimono robes fluttering behind her before he could change his mind.

Pitch allowed himself to watch her disappear into the distance, then pulled open the door and stepped back in. The beam that he shot at his two guests felt oddly genuine.

"I'm afraid my daughter's not feeing very well at the moment," Pitch said as he set himself back down at the end of the table. "She won't be joining us for the rest of the evening."

"Oh, sorry about that," said the boy intern, who was apparently still eating sashimi. Pitch quirked a brow. For one with such a big mouth, he ate pretty slow. An attendant then brought the boy a paperbox, to which he gave a thumbs-up to.

The _Kumicho_ then turned his attentions to the girl with the twin braids. The white streak woven into the brown strands was much clearer with her sitting by his side. While the boy might have said that he was sorry, the girl looked genuinely sorry about the missing hostess. Her forehead was creased in concentration, as if trying to prevent herself from showing further disappointment.

"Anna," her head jerked up to his call, "perhaps you would like to tell me why you're so sure that the one you saw was Jack Frost?"

"Well," she began slowly. In no time, she was rambling on about how the alien boy saved her when she was a child, and how she had been studying him since then. Pitch took note when necessary, mentally scorning the praises she showered on her 'hero' and looking out for important details. As he gently probed her subconscious, he found that under the fervent passions that she worked herself into, her fears were simple, and familiar. So very familiar.

Fear of loneliness.

A fine fear to have, if he might say so himself, as long as she didn't do anything about it.

Oh, he wouldn't hurt her, like he told his daughter. There was no point in hurting someone so fragile.

Unless she proved to be a threat.

Which would be ridiculous, because he was one of the richest men in Ameripan and the most powerful in Burgeshima. She was just a girl – a naïve, stupid little fan girl. He couldn't possibly be afraid of her. The idea alone was just preposterous.

But blood was thicker than water. He knew that to be uncommonly true, from his own experiences.

"If you don't mind me just pointing this out, _Kumicho-sama_ ," he heard the girl interrupt her own story, "but just now when I asked your daughter if we've ever met and she said she'd never been to Arenashi, well-" the girl twisted one of braids thoughtfully "-none of us mentioned to her that we're from Arenashi, and she didn't read our article or see the video, so how did she know?"

"Your accents," Pitch lied without a flinch, smiling politely. "It's slightly different from ours. Elsa's very astute at noticing such things." _Much like you,_ he added in his mind.

Anna seemed unconvinced though she mutely nodded.

It did occur then to him that when he hid his daughter's secrets, it wasn't quite for her sake, and it certainly wasn't for her sister's. He was too selfish for that.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Introducing Shen from Kung Fu Panda 2! If you've read The Odds Of Five, might have heard me mention how this guy - this Peacock, of all things - is my favorite Dreamworks villain. Ever. He's even cooler than Pitch, in my opinion. The Chinese gangster with the s** **carred** **eye is based on the Wolf Boss from KFP2, who I have named for convenience 'Da Lang' which literally translates to 'Big Wolf'. The old woman, of course, is the goat soothsayer. Oh, yes, but in this verse, all these guys will be humans.**

 **Eight point acupressure cuffs... now where had Merida encountered those before?**

 **To clear up any confusion, the person who Rapunzel murdered was NOT Flynn. In a matter of fact, this dead person is quite insignificant in this story, compared to who murdered him, who's being blamed for it and why.**

 **Tooth has many, many secrets. Any guesses on who 'M' is?**

 **The little Japanese that the attendant says when Pitch enters is translated via google to be 'The Kumicho Arrives'. If you know Japanese and can think of a neater phrasing, feel free to PM me.**

 **Up Next: Hmm, let's see… a rescue, some detective work and maybe a little backstory.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Well, I wrote this while still on vacation. Since there's a lot of driving (in which I do not drive), there was a lot of writing time.**

 **Guest Mailbox:**

 **Guest (June 6): I have to say Bucky probably inspired a great deal of 13's appearance, but I can tell you straight out without revealing any spoilers that 13 is not Bucky. But good luck with the guessing.**

 **Guest (June 3 on Chap 3): I'm guessing that your guessing that Jack's Elsa's age. Unfortunately, as it, Elsa is around 21 in these story, whereas you might realize by now that Jack's quite a bit older than the other teens (he's has been around since Tooth was in her teens and now she's like mid-forties? He hasn't aged a day though, like his movie counterpart.)**

 **Guest (June 7): Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad that you can't guess, because it makes me feel powerful and smart - muhahahaha! Of course, I think it gets easier as more chapters get up.**

 **Thanks for the reviews as always, folks. As usual, I love hearing from you guys, even if they're splutters of outrage (but keep as it as-readable-and-PG-rated-as-possible splutters of outrage. Thank you.)**

 **Hopefully I can update soon, but my vacation time is drawing to a halt and school's starting again soon. Huzzah.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	16. Chpt 15: Dealing with Demons and Destiny

Chapter 15: Dealing with Demons and Destiny

* * *

It was dusk at eight-thirty in the year 2005, on the date of August fourth. A hostage situation was currently in the play at the Black Raven Hotel, and he was trying to read the evening paper in peace.

Of course, he was interrupted. A gunman had crashed his door open, had pointed the semi-automatic at his head and told him to put his hands in the air. Without so much as looking at the incorrigible interrupter of a peaceful evening-reading, he flicked his wrist at the man. In that very second, the gunman was on his knees, clawing away the black tarantulas that had suddenly appeared on him, screeching like a lunatic. He threw his gun away as he did so, making it very convenient for his 'victim' to pick up, aim it and punch lead into his skull.

Pitch sniffed as he tossed the gun away. With its victim dead, the black spiders had disintegrated themselves into sand, sliding swiftly down the carpet to join the shadow of its master.

He didn't give the collapsed body so much as a second glance, stepping impassively over it, as if it were but a puddle in his path. As he reached the doorway, he heard urgent calls, shouted threats and he scowled. Terrorists storming _his_ hotel while _he_ was staying. Where was the bloody security and what were they doing about this? It was clear that the management in charge of this establishment was incompetent. He made a mental memo to throw out the old committee and find a better one.

The air was thick with fear, but not thick enough to cloud up his senses. He was sharp enough to detect the armed fool who approached him now, with his gun poised for the shot, so Pitch sent a puff of sand towards his face. This terrorist crumpled to the ground covering his head while the flock of sand-made crows jabbed him with their beaks, poking him savagely as his skin was torn open and his scalp began to bleed.

His screams were drowned out by the next idiot who attempted to strike the Nightmare King with the butt of his rifle, for this fellow was thrown up against the wall and stabbed through the heart. His primary fear was that of death, so Pitch considered it fitting that it'd be delivered to him.

As he strolled down the hotel corridor with an annoyed expression, Pitch was met by several more such criminals, who, with just even less than a blink from him, ending up paralyzed where they were, collapsed on the ground, or clawing against the wall while crying in agony. It was all very pathetic. Terrorists, they called themselves? Well, let _terror_ strike their hearts. No one attacked an establishment owned by _him_ without being punished.

He continued the rest of his stroll in this fashion – sighing in exasperation and raising his arms only to direct the sand and shadows to their work. Occasionally when a particular scream got on his nerves, he would form his sickle in his hands and slice the perpetrator's head off. He only ceased this routine when he felt himself step onto something wet and slippery. Pitch peered down.

It was ice - just a thin layer. Before him, he also saw patches of snow scattered around and frost-patterns climbing up the corridor walls. Just four rooms down from him, he saw a flash of blue light, mixed with a high-pitched shriek and deeper hollers. Crystal-like shards flew out from that doorway, smashing themselves against the other door across the corridor.

Suddenly, his disinterest with the current situation ebbed away. Could it be?

He didn't dash into the room. He had to play this out carefully. He had waited too long for this opportuntity to arise – far too long. With stealth that only one cloaked in shadows could possess, Pitch drew himself up against the walls of the corridor, flattening himself against it till he was nothing but fluid black. Slinking his way warily towards the targeted doorway, his shadowy form climbed around its frame, prepared to launch itself into the room as a cloud of blinding darkness.

Then, he heard a whimper, followed by the sound of sobbing.

Puzzled, he detached his form from the frame, the shadows falling from the walls and transforming back to particles, which in turn joined together in the shape of sand-structured snake. His new body slithered down along the snow-coated carpets, over and under the wreckage. He swerved around the icicles and the frost-covered debris, bringing him closer to the source of the crying.

As a huddled form came into his view, he found himself attacked by the pungent stench of blood – hot and fresh despite the freezing surroundings. He sought the scent of fear, but all he detected was stale ones that died with their owners.

Yet there was still a sob.

He stared up at the huddle, but from his height he couldn't see well enough. So, his form crumbled back into pieces before swirling off the ground into a whirl of darkness, building him back into his human form. Now, he stood, proud and tall, staring down at the child sitting in the centre of the ice-coated room. She was curled into a ball, with her head buried in her arms.

Besides the pallor of her blonde hair, there seemed nothing extraordinary about her. She had arms and legs, as most humans did. When she cried, she sounded like any other crying child. She was certainly not a white-haired adolescent who carried a staff with him. The only thing odd was that he couldn't read her. He didn't even catch some much as a whaft of her fears. It was like slamming against the thick wall. A thick ice wall.

Oh, there were also two limp, bleeding bodies skewered by a pair of giant icicles, like sausages over a barbeque. Their weapons were lying at the base of the icicles.

Peering at the small pool of blood was growing slowly near his feet, Pitch lifted his gaze to the girl, curiosity growing. Finally, he spoke, "What manner of a monster are you?"

Her head jerked up, her body immediately scrambling away from him. Her eyes widened at once, which was no surprise to him. He was an imposing figure to great men, so a seated child he must have seemed twice as terrible.

"S-stay back," she stuttered out, crawling backwards. Such a protest was expected too, a natural reaction of fear. Until – "I don't want to hurt you."

This warranted a skeptical look from him, turning to surprise as he noted how her hands, which she kept fiercely to the ground, glowed blue and how ice below them expanded, covering the carpet and the wallpaper almost completely. Even the hot, thick blood dripping off the corpses paused themselves, globules of red liquid caught mid-air by a frosty stalagmite. The scarlet puddle in front of him had already solidified.

He stared at her in amazement. She was no Jack Frost, for the manifestation of her abilities was quite different from him, but she certainly came close.

"You did this." It was a statement, not a question.

The girl had a crimson-streaked hand pressed against her cheek, which she used to wipe off her tears. "I-I-I didn't mean to."

"How?" Pitch asked. A girl of no more than twelve years old with such power. That was both a chilling and attractive notion.

"They c-chased me," the girl told him, not looking at him in the eye. "I ran. I-I told them to leave me be. They shouted at me. There were guns. So I – so I –" she lifted one bare, bloodied palm towards him, then suddenly placed it back in her lap. The ice creeping around them thickened considerably, and snow started to fall from the ceiling. Her lips trembled, her voice quaking till into incoherency. "I didn't want – I just wanted to stop – I told them so, _Itoldthem, Itoldthem_ -" a hoarse gasp carried with a gust of wind that swung straight past him _"-I didn't want to hurt - didn't want to hurt anybody."_ Her face crumbled as she covered her mouth, tears drawing lines through the bloodstains on her sobbing countenance. "But I was scared. They were so scary – _so, so scary."_ Her sobs sealed up her throat and she spoke no further, only continuing to weep.

It was then he felt the ground below them shift. The icicles over them rattled and chunks of ice stuck with wood crumbled from the ceiling, surrounding them in a white mist. Pitch would have thought that an ill-timed earthquake had decided to strike them when he realized that the ice around them was glowing too bright to be normal, and these hues of color seemed to surround first and foremost the girl herself.

The indoor breeze had turned into a blizzard, sweeping wildly against his robes in a manner that he did not appreciate. What's worst was how the ground below seemed to be jerking back and forth, creaking ominously under the weight of the snow. At the back of his mind, he felt a sudden wash of fear emanated from the remaining people inside the hotel, mixed in with panic and intense distress. The hotel was collapsing.

He glanced at the sobbing girl, who had now set herself down her knees and had her blood-stained palms pressed against each other. When he reached his mind towards her, it still drew a blank, whether because he couldn't touch her mind or because she had no fear, he couldn't be sure. Outwardly, she showed no sign of acknowledgement of the danger she was in, no life-preserving panic, screwing her eyes shut instead.

She prayed fervently, a voice so soft that he barely caught it, "Please take me away from here! I don't want this anymore. I'll be a good girl there. I promise!" She pressed her forehead against the tips of her fingers, ignoring the shower of cold dust that spilled over her in favuor of spilling more pleas heavenward. _"_ Please, please, _please_! _JUST TAKE ME AWAY!"_

So take her away, Pitch did.

* * *

She awoke to the sound of shocked cries and heavy thumping.

Merida lifted herself from the metal board that had once been a worker's dormitory bed. It was obvious that this place was no longer used as living quarters by the Triad gangsters, for the mattress had been a bedbug-infested sack of feathers. She had kicked that away before trying to lie down.

The redhead heir to the Dunbroch Bank & Trust Co. had only fallen to sleep after slamming her shoulder against the bolted door at least twenty times. She had to stop eventually, for her bones started to ache and her flesh became bruised. There were no windows in dorm, only an air vent on the ceiling, way beyond her reach. It was too small for her to climb into anyway - not that she could climb with these infernal cuffs around her wrists. So she had pretty much resigned to waiting it out for the gangsters to return for her, which would mean that board of directors had complied with the terms Shen had set, or that they had refused. The second possibility would end quite poorly for her.

There was sudden quiet now, only interrupted by the sound of a rusted lock being undone and the bolts jingling as they were unlatched. The hinges creaked as the door swung open. Light poured into her prison from the outside, masking the face of the shadowed figure standing at the door. Merida squinted in reaction to the sudden brightness, blinking to help her vision adjust.

"What-the?" was all she could utter.

The figure let out a sigh, saying sardonically, "Do you want to get out of here or not?"

Wait! She knew that voice!

"Hans?" Her mouth was hanging open, nearly stumbling over the bed in her shock.

Though the shadows hid his face, she could imagine him smirking. "Let's go! C'mon!"

She hopped forward, still teeming to brim with disbelief as she stepped into the crimson-lit corridor. He was dressed quite casually – well, casually in the sense that not the stiff suit that he was usually stuck in, but a dark-coloured T-shirt, dark trousers and a dark coat. Yet it was beyond doubt him. She didn't know anyone else who could pull-off sideburns like he did.

"I thought you died," she gasped, still looking him over and over just to make sure her sleep-deprived eyes hadn't deceived her. "The explosion - you were still in-in the car- how did you-"

"Long story. Tell you later." He jerked his head towards the limb bodies lying on the metal-netted floor – bodies which had his taser bullets protruding from their chests. She watched him reload the magazine into his fancy taser gun, which gave out a low hum after he did. "We should go before someone sounds the alarm."

She nodded and followed him.

The path was foggy, due to the puffs of exhaust released by the machine pipes, and the heat of the central furnace was burning against her skin, even though she couldn't see it. As they scurried down the halls, keeping their eyes and ears peeled for patrolling Triad members, he caught sight of the cuffs around her hands. "Seriously? They bound your hands _again_?"

Merida rolled her eyes, her locked hands turning into fists. "Yes! I'm dangerous! I need to be locked up."

"Right," Hans muttered skeptically. "I don't suppose you know where we could get a key for this."

"No, actually, I-" she paused, thinking very hard. From where they were running right now, which was just allow the rim of the central furnace, she craned her neck upwards and sawing the almost completely transparent supervisor's office about ten floor over where they were. If anyone would have a key, it would have to be the White Peacock himself. "I need to get up there."

"Wait, what-where are you-" she ignored his flustering as she dashed away from him, taking the staircase up another platform.

"Just follow, BS!" she yelled back to him.

The path she led them on took them through the production floor. Fortunately, the machines were fully automated, punching and assembling parts with without the need for human supervision. She squeezed herself through the tall automated structures, glancing back occasionally to ensure that her rescuer – whose plans she must have just thrown completely awry – was following. At the end of the row, however, she was unfortunate enough to encounter one of the Wolves, leaning against the doorway where he had been stationed.

"Hey, what are you-" the gangster began as his hands darted to his holster.

Fortunately, after her little nap, Merida was feeling refreshed and very much alert. Swinging herself back then forward, she kicked him straight in the stomach, and he clutched it in pain. Letting out a growl, she swung her heavy cuffs against his head, knocking him out cold.

As the unconscious hoodlum fell to the ground, Hans emerged from the maze of machinery, his gun raised to shoot. He eyed the defeated gangster, then the girl. She made a smug grin at him, before beckoning him to follow.

They managed to make their way to the elevator shaft without being disturbed. Merida jumped in first and Hans after. He pulled the door shut while she used her cuffed hands to push the lever to the desired floor. The lift creaked, swinging a little before beginning its ascent – an ascent that was far too slow for Merida's jittery nerves. Someone was going to bump into the comatose bodies' any second, and she didn't have the ability to teleport them out of this.

The pendant. Another thing she needed to worry about after they got out of here. _If they got out of here._

"You know, we could try picking the lock with your knife," Hans suddenly told her after a few second of listening to the gears scraping against each other. "You still have it?"

The redhead suddenly froze. Throughout her brief tenure here, she had forgotten all about the small weapon that she had on her person.

Her 'babysitter' noticed her change in expression, and an amused one appeared on his. "You really didn't think of that, did you?"

She scowled at him, defensive. "Well, it's not like I could reach my pockets with my arms cuffed like this anyway!"

After taking a second to swallow her pride, she let him check her pockets, discovering that she truly did still have her switchblade. Her kidnappers probably didn't think she would carry on her. Sucked to be them.

"Have you ever picked a lock in your life?" she asked him, watching how he jostled the blade against the keyhole. One particularly forceful jab against the metal made her arms move again, sending a surge of agony up her arms. "Ow! Watch it! These get tighter the more I move."

"Why can't you just be grateful that I'm even here at all?" he hissed at her, as he tried to turn the blade. This time, there was a victorious 'click' and the heavy cuffs fell to the ground, just missing their feet. "Could have left you here, let Shen pick your bones -"

"I'll thank you once we leave here alive, which I hope you actually have a plan for," she murmured back, rubbing her reddening wrists and twisting them. Then, she turned him sharply as she registered what he said. "Wait, you know Shen?"

"Remember what I told you about one of my law clients wanting to kill me?" He handed her back her knife, then adjusted his grip on his gun once again. "Well, Shen was on the prosecution side. My client was on the defense."

Merida's brows in surprise as the lift began slowly to a halt. "Then why did your client try to kill you?"

"Oh, that's because my client was -" he had to break off at that point, because when the lift drew to a stop, they realized there were several gangsters standing right outside the door, with their weapons pointed at them.

"You're outnumbered!" the lead of the squad, who Merida recognized as the scar-eyed Da Lang, hollered at them. "Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air."

Hans muttered a curse as he slowly bent himself down, lowering his fancy gun to the ground. Merida, however, found herself examining the outline of the cage-like elevator, staring at how the gears and chains were wrapped around each other, twisted and connected to the hooks and pistons, all which were operated by the lever.

"Hands in the air!" she heard Da Lang yell again. She saw two of the gangsters moving towards the doors of the elevator, their hands reaching for the hand-grips to open it.

Merida narrowed her eyes. She had no intention of being captured again.

"Grab on to something," she told her companion in a low voice as he rose back to his feet.

He gave her curious look. "What?"

Before anyone else could make a move, Merida grabbed the lever and yanked it back all the way. Hard.

It would be an understatement to say that the elevator dropped. It, in fact, plummeted.

She heard Hans own shout of surprise as the ground disappeared under their feet. She had to admit that her own teeth chattered as they zoomed past the other floors at accelerating speeds, faster and faster each second. Gunfire could barely be heard with the wind rushing against their ears, but this was not a new sensation to her. She was used to dropping at greater heights.

Still, her eyes were squeezed tight when she finally jerked the lever away from her, making the elevator screech to a stop serendipitously at one lift landing. She heard the explosion of bullets from against their barrels, pelting against the ceiling above them. Then, a volley of howls were heard, echoing throughout the base.

"Well, now everyone knows I've escaped," she remarked with slight humor. She then turned to her babysitter, who was collapsed on the ground and wearing a dazed expression. Merida shook back her curls, which had gotten more tangled than ever after that harrowing experience. In a business-like tone, she picked up his gun, fitting it in her hands and slipping a finger over the trigger.

"You shouldn't be touching that," she heard him say in a slightly nauseous tone.

Merida examined the pallor of his face critically, observing too how he shakily stood himself to his feet. "You're in no shape to be pointing a weapon at anyone."

"Do you even know how to use a gun?" he protested in between wheezy breaths.

It so happened that hoodlums on patrol had spotted their arrival to their floor and had begun their advance towards them, flailing their sabres. Merida pointed the weapon and fired two projectiles in rapid succession. Both gangsters stumbled on their own feet and collapsed, now unconscious. She spun back to Hans and smiled gleefully.

Appearing rather disgruntled, the young lawyer finally gave up. "Fine, but when I feel better, you're giving it back to me."

The girl just shrugged noncommittally.

Both of them had to flee the lift at that point, because they could see gangsters running down towards the lift landing, brandishing their weapons. Bullets chased their feet and shattered around them, ricocheting off the machinery and setting off sparks. Merida twisted herself once or twice to shoot back at them, but taser bullets were not as great a threat as normal ones. Their pursuers were persistent.

"This is your fault!" Hans shouted at her just as both of them ducked behind a stack of crates to avoid one particularly heavy shower of projectiles.

"My fault? I didn't ask to get kidnapped!" Merida snapped at him, taking a peek around their shield only for her 'babysitter' to yank her back. "Hey!"

"No, but if you didn't keep running off to do your own thing – whatever that is - we wouldn't have the entire Peacock Triad at our heels!" The fury on his face was unmistakable. She had always seen the gentlemanly, polished side of him before, so this undisguised anger came as a shock. Merida shrank back slightly, smart retorts dying from her tongue as shame overwhelmed her.

Probably realizing that he had been overtly harsh, Hans let out a sigh, running a palm down his face. He then held out a hand towards her. "Just give me the gun."

Sobered, she did as he asked. She watched in uncharacteristic silence as he checked the cylinder, then removed the magazine.

As he did, Merida had an urge to explain herself, to make herself a little less spoilt and selfish in his eyes – though perhaps that was the most fitting description for her now – so she blurted out, "There are people in Dunbroch Bank & Trust that have links to the Nightmare Yakuza."

He glanced at her quizzically, but not with surprise.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You knew, didn't you?"

"I kind of assumed that the Nightmare Yakuza has their fingers in everything," he answered as removed a new magazine from the body pouch strapped around his torso. Merida had never seen him wear it before and she wondered what he kept in it.

"Well, Shen has a list of Yakuza infiltrators in my family's company. It's in his office," the redheaded girl informed him. "I need it."

He merely peered down at her with a mixture of doubt and condescension. Merida couldn't help but scowl. That face reminded her too much of her mother.

"This is what's going to happen," he told her, glossing over whatever she had said. He slipped the magazine inside the grip, waiting for the click before cocking the gun.

"See that ladder over there?"

She followed his gaze to the iron-cast ladder that had been nailed to the end of the platform and nodded.

"You are going to climb all the way down that to the jetty and get a boat. A small one will do, as long as you don't get caught."

"What about you?" The girl asked, twisting one lock of curls in her head, feeling slightly nervous.

"I'm going to distract them." He held the taser-gun out by the barrel, proffering its grip to her.

Hesitantly, her finger coiled back around the weapon, her eyes wide. "I can't leave you here!"

"You won't," he told her, firmly pressing the gun into her hands. "I'll meet you there."

She glanced at him, then at the corner from which their attackers were firing. "But how?"

He smiled grimly at her, removing a small box from another compartment on his stash. "Don't worry. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Only then did it hit Merida that the gunfire had stopped. Orders were given for the gangsters to search the place. Hans nodded furiously at her, inclining his head towards the ladder. "Go. They'll being coming 'round any moment now."

Merida suddenly gained the ability to move again. She quickly scurried over to the ladder, hunching herself so as not to be spotted and clutching the taser-gun to her body. As she took a step on the first rung, she turned her head to her 'babysitter'.

His tone was insistent. "Go!"

She tucked the gun in her pocket, turning her back to him as she quickly began her descent down the ladder, rung by rung. In no time, her mop of red curls disappeared out of his sight.

The young lawyer then threw the small box away, not even looking. Really, it was just an empty matchbox, not some kind of life-saving weapon that he had implied it was. In matter of fact, the magazine that he gave her was the last one he had. Its sole purpose was to give his charge more of a peace of mind so as to leave him alone.

"Search behind those crates!" He heard the leader of the attack them bark.

Hans took a deep breath as he leaned himself back. Idly, he took out his pocket watch which he kept on another compartment of his sash. It was of 18th Century craft, made in France, hunter-case style with golden engravings on the front and back depicting the revolutions of Saturn around the sun. It was a family heirloom; a tiny part of the even tinier inheritance. He was the thirteenth son of the Westergaards, after all, and the piles of gold, the fancy estates and the top positions at the law firm had already been distributed to his older brothers. He got the leftovers, which weren't much – proportionate to his worth, his brothers had told him.

He flipped the lid open, watching the hands of the clock moving behind the crystal face as the approaching footsteps grew louder.

* * *

Merida had managed to reach the bottom of the ladder without any issues, passing two storage halls without a fuss. But she couldn't help feeling a tugging at her conscience. She shouldn't have left him alone. What if he died for real this time? She couldn't allow that. She was supposed to be the better person. The stronger person.

 _'You left him because you were weak,'_ a cruel voice taunted her at the back of her mind. _'Because you weren't brave enough to face off the enemy.'_

"It wasn't as if I'd be much help. I don't have my powers right now," she whispered back in her head, toting the taser-gun – _his_ taser-gun - as she crept through another hall of stacked crates, side by side with containers. All sealed and sealed for exportation. "And there's only one gun."

 _'And you kept it for yourself, you selfish coward,'_ the voice in her head hissed at her. _'Go on then. Run. Run from the fight.'_

She blinked in frustration, trying to shove this silly mental conversation out of her mind. She was trying to fight for her own survival here. She didn't have time internal debate!

Merida lifted her head cautiously, she glanced at her surroundings. She spotted one gangster in patrolling in the distance just two rows down, and another five rows down. She shot the nearer one first, and he crumbled like a rag doll on the ground. The sound of his body hitting the floor got the other hoodlum running forward to check on him. As he reached for his communicator to call for help, Merida shot him in the shoulder. The taser projectile cackled with a fizzle, sending its victim tumbling over.

She moved out of her hiding place, darting forward clutching the taser-gun. The semi-automatics that had fallen from the arms of the unconscious hoodlums were tempting pickings, but she reminded herself that she never shot to kill. Arrows, she understood. She breathed them and felt them. Bullets were beyond her control.

She ran past the fallen gangsters, through the narrow passageway that led her out from the store rooms, back to the central shared walkway. There was another elevator landing coming up, but she decided to avoid it. Being cornered was not a good tactic for her now, especially since she didn't have any hand-to-hand weapons. She kept herself hunched forward, taking cover behind the partitions and pillars, avoiding the armed hoodlums wherever she could. Everything that they said to one another was all in Chinese – at least she thought it was Chinese – so she couldn't understand a word of it. She could only hope that they were not headed to the docks.

When she finally managed to a catch a whiff of seawater amidst the fumes and smoke, Merida let herself make a small smile. With the gun still raised, she hurried down the steps, her feet tapping against the metal plates before finally reaching the concrete platform that was the shipyard. Stretched out into the sea was the man-made platforms, each port holding boats of various sizes. Seeing her goal so close to her, the redhead began a cautious approach towards the sea vessels, her eyes peeled for any g-

"Hey!" _BANG!_

Reflexes made her duck, whirl around and fire the taser-bullet straight into the chest of her assailant. He slumped over, weapons smacking noisily against the platform. But the damage had already been done. The sound of soles against metal warned her of more guards coming from behind her. She swore as she whipped herself around, raising the weapon and firing the taser-projectiles. They hit their mark, but not before the marks hit her.

A burst of pain exploded in her right shoulder and blood spurted out. Merida let out an even louder curse as she grabbed the wound, lowering the gun at the same time. She fled towards the boats, swinging herself around the platforms and shielding herself behind one ferry. She heard a bark of orders and the thumping of feet towards her, so gritting her teeth, she struggled to lift the gun with her left hand. It wobbled horribly, for her shaken self wasn't quite prepared to support the weight of the weapon. Her bow was so much lighter.

"Come out, princess!" She heard a jeering howl. "Don't make this uglier than it needs to be!"

Merida bit the inside of her cheek as she shifted her right arm, examining her wound with disgust. The blood had started dripping onto her coat, making her shiver against the sea breeze. Her heart was ramming hard against her rib cage as adrenaline and fear ran through her system. Peering through the cylinder, she counted her ammo – three shots. Moreover, the range of this taser-gun was probably shorter than the average rifle that the gangsters carried. She definitely had been handed the short of the stick here.

Part of her told her that she might as well give up. She was wounded. She was surrounded. She was running out of ammo.

Sometimes, Merida really hated just being 'Merida'. The Will-O-Wisp would never have this problem.

"You've got till the count of three!" She heard her captors call.

She straightened the gun back in her hand, releasing a tight breath.

"One."

She peered at her wound, leaking like a running tap. The loss of blood made her shudder harder in the wind. Any aim she took had to high a chance of missing, and even if she hit all her targets, she wouldn't win this fight. There were definitely more than three people out there, and they weren't afraid to take the killing shot. She wasn't indispensable.

"Two."

On the other hand, if she surrendered, they'd take her back to her cell and lock her up tighter than ever. If the BOD didn't deliver what Shen wanted, she'd still die in less than twelve hours. Still, it bought her a bit more time.

"Thr-"

"Okay! Okay!" She stepped out from behind the ferry, back into the line of sight of her assailants. She couldn't see that well in the dim lighting, but she could make out at least ten dark figures facing her, all armed to the teeth. The Triad members were really overkill.

She dropped the taser-gun on the ground, lifting up her left hand in surrender while leaving her bleeding red arm hanging loose. "I give."

She watched two of the closest sentries approach, their weapons still raised as a precaution. When they were less than five feet in front of her, something suddenly dropped from above. All eyes, including hers, were automatically trained on the canister rolling on the ground.

The canister that suddenly exploded into dark, angry fumes.

They were cries of confusion as the cold night was suddenly filled with smoke, clogging up the nostrils and attacking the throat. Merida felt her eyes watering as she coughed into her good hand, noting in puzzlement that there were more small 'psshhff!' sounds that followed that first one, flooding the entire dock with fumes. In the blur, she felt something grab her under her arm and before she knew it, she was whooshing into the air at seventy miles per hour.

She screamed when she realized that she could no longer feel the ground under her feet. She screamed as she felt the wind sweeping through her curls and grabbing them in their icy claws, yanking her head back. Yet, all this was drowned out by the booming of the rocket thrusters below, punching her into the black starless sky.

Almost abruptly, she felt herself turning horizontal while still moving towards the lightless sky. This foreign sensation sent a shot of anxiety through her, making her wriggle desperately against the vice-like grip that pressed her against the cold, metallic surface.

"Please don't struggle, Miss Dunbroch! I'll drop you otherwise!"

Then she realized that the metallic surface she was pressed against was actually body armor, and the thing holding tightly under her arms, by her waist, was actually a person.

Daring to open her eyes a little wider than before, Merida took a deep breath as she examined her presumed rescuer. He was a small scrawny figure, clad in a dark purple helmet with an opaque visor and matching purple armor that covered most of him, except his feet. Both of them were sitting on top of some kind of flying machine with red wings, powered by rocket thrusters at its ...feet? They were flying on an automaton?

"Are you alright?" The voice behind the visor asked her. It had a metallic tinge in it, which she was recognized as a filter, similar to the one that Knight used. Except, this wasn't Knight and she wasn't on his dragon either.

"Who are you?" she said in a shaky voice, detaching his grip from her hastily. That wasn't the wisest of moves, for she suddenly felt herself inertia pulling off the flying mobile, threatening to cast her into sea below.

Fortunately, the armored fellow was quick enough to grab onto her good arm again, dragging her closer to him as her body fought the speed. It was then that she noticed that the knee-caps of his armor, which were red for some reason, were locked to the two small niches on the back of the flying machine-slash-automaton. That was what kept him effortlessly attached in flight.

"Sorry for the lack of introduction there," the armored figure said in a slightly embarrassed tone. She could imagine him blushing behind the impermeable visor – except, well, she didn't know the face that went with figure. He stuck out his free hand towards her, a hand that was encased in huge metal gauntlet. "Jinketsu of the Big Hero 6 at your service."

Then, it clicked in Merida's mind. She definitely knew who the Big Hero 6 were – everyone did. Who couldn't make a fuss about the first ever teen Super group to exist in Ameripan? But what was he doing here – at off-shore Burgeshima – of all places? And where was the rest of his team?

When she didn't take his hand, he awkwardly try to gloss over it by patting onto the red back of his flying contraption. "This is RONIN. Say hello, RONIN."

 _"Hello, Miss Dunbroch,"_ a surprisingly calm and cheerful mechanical voice was emitted from below her, making Merida almost jump up in surprise. Of course! RONIN, the friendly neighborhood robot that accompanied the team. He had apparently been voted the most favorite super of 2014, or something. _"I hope you are not undergoing form of traumatic injuries. As a precaution, I will scan you."_

Her brows almost disappeared from her forehead as barked at the flying machine below her knees. "Don't scan me!"

 _"Scan complete."_

"I said don't!"

The armored boy shrugged her helplessly. "Sorry, he kind of does it his own thing."

 _"You have a bullet wound on the right shoulder. There is also blood loss and high possibility of shock."_

"SHE HAS A WHAT!" The filter in Jinketsu's helmet did not hide the boyishness of his voice. She watched as his glass visor turned towards her, angling his head so as to look at her bleeding arm, which had been hidden his view thus far. "OH MY GOODNESS! WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING!"

Merida peered at her own wound with slight disdain, trying to shrug but ended up hissing in pain. There was a fuzz in her mind, slowly seeping the energy from her. "It's just a flesh wound."

"BAY-um, RONIN, give me something that I can help her with!" The boy was almost pounding on the armor of his robot. "QUICK!"

"Oh, don't be silly," she snapped at him, though she felt a ghastly shiver run over her. "I've taken worst things before." She wasn't lying. In her early days of 'hero-work', getting injured was so common that she had even joined the first aid team at school for a short time to learn how to treat herself – not that they taught her to stitch up her lacerations.

Merida tried to wrap her arms around her quivering body. "Now, what I really want to know is this: what are you doing-"

She was interrupted by a whirring sound as a small box-like compartment rose up from the back of the robot's red armor. Jinketsu opened up its flap and removed from it a small hand-held scanner-like machine, as well as a rubber strap. "Let me see your shoulder."

Stripping off her coat first, Merida twisted herself around as much as she could without letting him lose his grasp on her good shoulder. She watched him as he tied a tourniquet near the above the wound. "Now can you please tell me, what are you doin-OW!"

He had the small machine pressed against her bleeding wound, and by Jings, it hurt. She could imagine a sympathetic expression on his face. "Sorry. It gets better. I promise."

"What are you doing here?" she finally managed to spit the words out.

He cocked his head towards her as he pressed the machine more firmly against her wound, bathing the icky red flesh in a bluish light. Now, it didn't hurt so much - just felt a little warm. "Rescuing you. It's in the name, you know. Jinketsu does literally mean 'hero', and I'm from the Big _Hero_ 6, after all."

"No." Merida shook her head. "Why is it _you_ whose rescuing me? This isn't your city. San Fransokyo is."

"You seem to know a lot of Supers for a mere civilian, Miss Dunbroch," he said in a quiet manner. Through the visor, she couldn't see if his expression was threatening or suspicious. Then, he let out a hearty chuckle. "Okay, I'm just messing with you. I know about you. Hiccup told me."

"Hiccup?" She was puzzled by the familiar yet strange name. Where had she heard of it before?

Jinketsu drew himself back in surprise, though still keeping the contraption pressed to her arm. The pain was mostly gone now, and she noticed that the bluish light that the machines shone had somehow cleaned up her wound. It began to assemble wet, stringy threads around the red blotch. "I was under the impression that he already told you his secret identity."

Secret identity? There was only one person who could fit the description. "Knight? Wait, his name's really _Hiccup_?" A fuzzy memory at the back of her head recalling the dark vigilante's confrontation with her on his steed confirmed as much. "Ugh, that is a really awful name."

"How can you forget? Are you in habit of forgetting things?" She heard Jinketsu utter in complete disbelief. "How on earth do you do hero-work like this?"

"I don't always forget – wait, he told you?" Merida grabbed the armored boy by his collar, not caring that he made a squeak of surprise and almost dropped the healing machine when she yanked him towards him. "He told you about _me_? That thrice-accursed son of -"

"He needed me to know why it's so urgent!" The voice behind the opaque helmet retorted, squirming in her grasp. "13 also already knows who you both of you are!"

"13-what?" Merida let him go, her eyes growing as large as saucers. "As in 13? _The_ 13?"

Jinketsu pulled himself away from her, shuddering in the aftermath of her aggressiveness. "Hiccup got a threat from him – not Knight, mind you. _Hiccup_ got it. He knows who both of you are, and he wants you guys out of here. He even told Hiccup where to find you."

"If he told Hiccup, then how come you're the one that here to-" Merida broke off as she realized that she had forgotten something – or rather someone – very important."

The armored hero noticed her change in her expression. "What's wrong?"

 _"Jings crivens, help ma bob!"_ She turned sharply to the boy. "We need to turn around right now!"

"What?" The boy was certainly bewildered by her. "Why?"

"Because I left my BS behind! That's why!"

"You left your _what_ behind?"

* * *

By the time the youngest son of the Westergaards arrived at the supervisor's office, he had blood all over him. Fortunately, most of it was not his.

The two guards at the door were easy enough to tackle, especially since they were not expecting any visitors, and certainly not a visitor of his proficiency. A swipe of his curved sabre – a sabre that he had procured from one of his vanquished foes – was more than enough to render them weaponless, another swipe rendered them handless, and the last slash rendered them lifeless.

He entered the glass office with his blade poised for attack, his eyes darting quickly around the office. He caught movement at one corner and directed his weapons there instantly, ready to lunge forward.

"Oh, relax. Does it look like I like I have a semi-automatic in my robes?"

The young lawyer stared hard at the old woman, then reluctantly, he lowered the sabre. He noted how she knelt on plain bamboo matt, calm and composed despite his intrusion. Before her was set a bowl of incense ashes, unlit joss-ticks bound together, an old-fashioned compass marked with Chinese inscriptions and a walking stick.

"The one that you're looking for is not here," she told him in a serene manner.

"What makes you think I'm look for a person?" He slipped the sabre under his arm, walking towards one of the tables in the office. He flipped through the papers quickly, scanning documents and sorting them. Most of the ones that he found no interest in, he just tossed aside, and those he did, he would stack neatly in front of him.

"I don't think. I know," the woman said, infuriatingly unperturbed.

Hans snorted at her answer, allowing himself an amused smile. At that moment, a rather sizable blob of blood splattered itself on one of the documents he was moving. He frowned, bringing this piece closer for examination. It was then he realized that there was crimson liquid dripping down his lip. He pressed a finger over his lip, under his nose and found it wet. Another nosebleed. Lovely.

"I have no quarrel with the White Peacock Triad," he said levelly, wiping his bloodied hand against the same ruined document, before continuing his browsing. He found a list of names with figures written on the side, where some of those names had asterisk marked next to them.

"No, your quarrel lies elsewhere," his unwanted companion always seemed ready a retort. "With the Great Stallion and his riders, maybe?"

Hans lifted his head from the table to spare a glance at the odd old woman, who was standing now, her arms rested on her walking stick while looking slyly towards his way. He moved over to the shelves of the office instead, asking at the same time, "What are you? Some kind of soothsayer?"

"Perhaps," she replied with an air of mystery, as if she knew something he didn't. "It's been known that my prophecies come true."

"Well, I'm afraid I'm not really one for prophecies, or fates, or any kind of predestination," the young lawyer answered dryly, removing a ledger of bank accounts. He found a small, flat thumb-drive tied to ring of it and detached, deciding to pocket this instead. He returned to the table to the rest of documents, straightening out his chosen sheets together before tucking them under his own arm. "I prefer to believe in the power of human autonomy. The ability to choose one's own path, if you will."

"Perhaps," the woman murmured once again, hobbling forward towards him, "but how would you know that you not are destined to choose the cursed path?"

The word made him stiffen. It was something he had heard too often in his younger days – an adjective that did not sit well with him. "I do not believe in … _curses_."

"Not even as the thirteenth son?"

He whipped sharply towards her, gazing down her wrinkled, but surprisingly bright eyes. He took a cautious step back, one hand holding the sheaf and the other his sabre. Without really thinking, he pointed the tip of his gore-ridden blade at the old woman, just inches from her heart. His brows were knitted together. "What are you _really_?"

"A signpost," she answered, not even flinching at the sight of a weapon. "You are at the crossroads, young man. If you truly believe destiny is in your hands, then choose wisely. Some paths seem more promising than others, but promises, too, can be empty. Beware, for all power comes at a great cost. You know that well yourself." The soothsayer seemed to nod at the bloodstained document on the table.

His own emerald eyes flitted the object that she had indicated at, before darting back her. For a fraction of a second might have considered actually striking the blow, but he composed himself and dropped his arm. This was foolishness in itself - listening to a strange woman and her strange words! It in itself did not deserve his wrath.

"You stick your beliefs, m'am," he said in lofty tone, like an indulgent parent to a naïve child. "I'll stick with mine."

She nodded without further rhetoric, so he assumed it was well a time as any to take his leave. As he moved towards the door, the documents tucked under his arm and sabre in hand. Before he managed to pull open, he heard say, "Let's do a little test on my foresight, shall we?"

He turned himself slowly around, eyeing her warily.

A light smile played on her lips. "Shen and his men are at the docks now. There's no point going that way. Try the climbing to the crown instead."

Not quite sure of how to answer, he didn't, sliding out of the door and closing it behind him. He rolled up the sheets and stuck them on the inside his jacket, frowning to him and as he decided on what to do.

A test of foresight?

Hans dug his hand into his pocket, taking a look at his golden heirloom. Flipping open the hunter-case of the pocket watch, he checked it. He had time, he supposed.

The crown of the oil rig was right at the very top. It wasn't even a platform - just a tall, metallic structure that stretched up towards the sky. Since the supervisor's hall was at the highest level already, it was not difficult to find the exit hatch, yank it open and walk into the cold night air. The breeze was especially strong at the top of rig and all that kept him from being swept was the flimsy metal rails that flanked the walkway.

He stretched his neck forward, peering down to the miles and miles that he would could fall if he toppled over now. He squinted into the darkness, in the direction of the dock. There, he saw rising smoke, though no clear sign of a flame. He wondered what had transpired there and where his young redhead charge was.

He suddenly felt a particularly sharp gust attack him, slamming his body against the rails and almost sucking the breath from his lungs. When he managed to pry his eyes open, he couldn't help but be a startled by what he saw.

"Well, BS, are you going get on or not?"

* * *

"Casualties twenty-six, sir. Out of that, ten are dead, eight in the critical condition."

"Damage reported near the docks, in factory rooms 32, 53, 54, 56 and the two elevators in the south wing."

"Surveilliance tapes have been destroyed or stolen. We are trying to recover the back-up files in the computer, but this appears to have damaged too."

"There's no trace of the Dunbroch girl, sir. We've searched everywhere."

The American Chinese did not speak at once, turning away from his subordinates to gaze upon his vandalized office. Files were all in disarray – not that he hadn't left them in a mess, but his self-created 'method in madness' was preferable to the casual heap that the rummager had left behind. He rested his lance-sword against the cupboard and dropped himself into the chair, fanning himself with his decorated fan as he slowly absorbed all the news.

"What should we do, Lord Shen?"

He gazed up towards his followers - men far larger in size and strength than he, with crude tattoos and scars to emphasize their indubitable manliness. Far unlike his own elegant, slender self whose health was weak and only strength lay in his mental capacity.

The White Peacock, beyond abilities, was also very unlike his followers in his background. He was born to wealth, education, refinement and culture. They, on the hand, belonged on the opposite end of the spectrum; young immigrants who had come in search for prospective opportunity in the promise land that was the West Coast and had grown bitter when those dreams became unfulfilled. It was odd that he was able to click so well with this motley pack, but shared experience was powerful glue, especially when the experience was rooted in hate.

Hate for the Nightmare Yakuza, and its despicable leader.

"The Nightmare Yakuza must have done this," he said to them, his voice barely raised from his usual rasp. Each one who stood before him gave him their full attention, hanging on his every word. "They must have come for the girl."

"Are you certain of that?" A quiet voice cut through the stillness like a knife. All gazes flitted quickly to the one who spoke. The soothsayer, ever her unruffled self, sat on her mat, her legs crossed and her arms rested on her knees. Her eyes weren't even open as she continued, "Did you even examine the evidence?"

"There is enough evidence!" Shen declared, dismissing her words with a flap of his fan. He had little trust for the fortune-teller. Her riddles and rhetoric was always full of vague hints that served to confuse rather than aid. Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't had her executed – it would remove much irritation in his life. "Who else would be able to strike with such deadly force in the silence? Who else dares to enter my base and slay my men in the still of the night?" There was a hum of agreement amongst the gangsters, which only served to inflate his confidence. "The Nightmares have done this, so they must pay for it!"

There was a chorus of approval at this shout, with only the old woman sighing and shaking her head at it. Shen ignored her response – he was not seeking her counsel here. So to his subordinates, he ordered, "Load the guns. Ready the ships. We make for the shores of Burgeshima."

"Yes, sir!"

His followers scattered, clearing the glass office until all who was left was just the ganglord and the soothsayer. The White Peacock rose from his seat, retrieving his curved lance sword, raising it high. He peered at his own reflection through it, critically examining his pale, sickly skin glowing against the flames below.

He also sensed eyes burning into his back.

"Well, crazy old goat," Shen said casually, as he practice swinging forward, thrusting it, then drawing back as he had been trained in his young days, "why don't you tell about me about my upcoming victory against my foes?"

"You seem very sure that you will win," was the old woman's thin reply.

"Why shouldn't I?" The ganglord sniffed contemptuously, rotating the sword back, looping it back gracefully, before lowering it and straightening himself up. "I have been preparing for this years. Pitch Black, on the hand, has been lazing on laurels, clinging to old superstitions like a priest in the Dark Ages. He is sated with his old winnings, but me?" Shen let out a chortle, raspy and chilling. "I am famished! Starving for victory!" He paused, suddenly collecting himself. "Actually, I am hungry. I haven't eaten for days."

"You are not infallible, Shen," the soothsayer said firmly, but there was also a note of concern in her voice.

"Yes, yes, I know." He let out a huff of annoyance. "I shall be defeated by 'a warrior of black and white', as your silly prophecy says. Fortunately, Pitch Black is clearly a warrior of only _'black'_ , which all the more confirms that I will win." He shot a smug expression in her direction. "Now, don't you have some constellation to read, or zodiac to decipher?"

She shook her head in resignation, as she often did, while Shen marched his way across his office, proud as the bird whose name he adopted. He did stop to gaze at the dump of his octagonal office, the bare walls, the glass panels and the fiery glowed that it was bathed it. It had been his residence for the last three years, where he toiled over plans, where he had slaved over blue-prints and reports. It wouldn't be surprising if he bore some sentimentality towards it.

But sentiment was not an art that the Lord Shen of the White Peacock Triad practiced often. The past could go blast itself through eighteen floors of hell, for he cared. He had the future to tend to.

"Da Lang!" He called for his right-hand man the minute he exited the office.

The hooligan with the scarred-eye rushed forward immediately, greeting his superior with a small bow. "How can I be of service, sir?"

"Contact Tai Lung. I have a request to make of him – one that I think he would like," Shen instructed him. Pondering for a moment, he then added, "Also, get hold our friend with the numerical name. With Krei out of the loop, I suppose we'll have to hold on more tightly to whoever's left of our allies."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Backstory! Don't you just love it? No? Just me. Hmmph.**

 **Hiro's first appearance in this story! If you didn't catch it, his hero identity is Jinketsu, which also means 'Hero'. Like 'Hiro'. He is not related to the Naruto character that bears the same name.**

 **Hans is not what he seems. REPEAT. Hans is not what he seems.**

 **If you're familiar with the Kung Fu Panda franchise, you'd know Tai Lung. If you don't, he'll be explained in the future. Also, if you have watched KFP 2, you'd understand why prophecies and the 'warrior of black and white' may be important in the future.**

 **13 … eh, hehehe.**

 **Up Next: Hopefully more backstory, and the answer to the question – if Hiccup didn't go and rescue Merida, then what was he doing?**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. The action part of this was difficult to write, because I'm not very good at it, but I think it turned out alright.**

 **Recently, I'd been going through some big changes in my life that left me depressed, like loss of friends, purposelessness, change in environments and other stuff. However, these few days I was reminded that I'm loved by God, friends and family and that I've much to be thankful for, even though not everything always turns out the way I want it to. I'm still afraid, but I don't need to be a slave of my fear. He goes before me, and He stands behind me.**

 **I am sorry if I offend anyone by sharing this snippet of my life, but I think I've complained a bit too much about life in most of my other A/Ns before. It's time to acknowledge that there's joy to be found in life. Besides, you're free to skip reading these. That's why I separate the Author's Notes (A/Ns) from Story Notes (S/Ns).**

 **I would love any reviews if you want to leave them.**

 **Hope that you have a good day, wherever you are and whenever you read this.**

 **Review. Ask Question. Critique.**


	17. Chpt 16: A Bullet or Two Won't Tear Me T

Chapter 16: A Bullet or Two Won't Tear Me Through, But The Bleeding Might do a Number

* * *

Out of all the bands they could play, why did it have to be _AKB48_?

Don't get him wrong – he didn't have anything against the one-hundred and thirty member (and still counting) girl band that squeaked saccharine saturated melodies in accordance to bubble-gum pop synthesia – but hearing it plugged on repeat was as equivalent to have boiling toffee syringed into his ears every second.

Hiccup had his hands over his ear trying to block out the cutesy booming that rattled his eardrums. He could feel Toothless shifting inside his coat and knew that the feline's hypersensitive ears were also suffering.

"Drinks for you, hun?" a waitress caked in neon-colored makeup asked him with a wink. The tight corset and the short skirt she wore, all confectionary-themed as with the rest of racetrack facility, left little to imagination.

The boy turned crimson. He would have pointed out that he was considered under-aged, except that by entering here at the post-midnight hours, it would be assumed that he was at least over twenty-one. He even had a fake ID to prove it - which he needed, considering his lack of stature. "Um, no thanks, Miss."

She giggled a little and winked at him again. Readjusting the box of iced beverages slung behind her neck, she headed up to the next row of stalls. There, more thirsty and distracted spectators were willing to fork over their notes for her overpriced wares.

Hiccup ducked his head down to glance at the phone sitting on his lap. This wasn't his usual civilian phone, nor was it one of the PDAs that he carried on his usual stints as Knight, but a specially-designed one that he used on special missions that required him to sneakily infiltrate enemy communications systems. Fishlegs called it a 'mute phone' – not that one couldn't speak it, but because it was undetectable by usual forms of network tracing and hacking. It was with this particular phone that Hiccup attempted to track down the mysterious entity known as 13.

When 13 had hacked into his private communication line, he had left scattered digital fragments of a signal behind. For all his threats, the vilgilante had made a huge mistake and Fishlegs had managed to piece together these fragments together. Then, he created a program to track where the concentration of this signal was highest, and thus lead them to the person who hacked into it.

The problem with this particular method of tracking people was that the program was still at its prototype stage. Fishlegs had complete it just four hours earlier and had to download into the mute phone before Hiccup had to cut connection with him. This meant that the program was prone to a lot of glitching, hanging and mistakes. How did Hiccup know that it made mistakes? Just an hour ago, the program told him repeatedly to jump off an overhead bridge until he had restarted it. After that, it had led him here - a race track, which apparently quite a hot nocturnal destination. Since then, the phone screen only read 'searching' with a blinking circle. When he had begun tapping on it impatiently, it proceeded to advise him that doing so would not quicken their attempt to root out the signal and to kindly wait. Hiccup made a mental memo to tell Fishlegs to make his programs less condescending in the future.

A sudden roar swelled around him, drowning out the beats of _AKB48_ so completely that Hiccup jumped. He glanced around him and saw the spectators, some waving huge banners and other their betting tickets, jumping up and down at the stands, making a variety of gestures at the race track as the cars began looping on yet another last lap. Screeching tires and screaming engines zoomed past the spectator platform like a slap in the face. Two flashy LMP cars, running abreast, were slamming against each other heatedly, trying to overtake the other. The hollering around him only increased in ferocity, partially due to the intensity of the moment and partially due to increasing inebriation.

At this point, Hiccup started feeling a little bit nervous. In his boredom while waiting for the tracing program to load again, he decided to use the offline database stored in the phone to read up about the place he was at. What he found out was actually a little perturbing.

The Sugar Rush Circuit was owned by a disreputable business tycoon known as King Candy (that was literally his legal name. And Hiccup had thought _he_ suffered from bad-naming disorder) and was apparently a hotspot for the gathering of unsavory fellows, including the members of a particularly prominent and powerful gang here in Burgeshima – no prizes for guessing which one. Candy also had his own 'associates' and hirelings, and this 'gang' of his had been known occasionally make unwelcome patrons and racers alike 'disappear' according to their master's whims. The racetrack was also a public place, and that meant gangsters from different factions and different parts of the city could assemble here if they pleased – as long as they paid the entrance fee and bought drinks. Of course, that meant that the rival rings might bump into each other and carry out their own private duel instead of watching the race – and when they dueled, what they really did was bazooka each other's favorite race cars. While the drivers were driving them. Into the spectator stands. Where the spectators were gunning each other.

Racing, clearly, was a dangerous occupation.

As it happened, he felt his phone in his hand vibrate. Feeling extremely relieved, Hiccup glanced down at the screen for probably the twentieth time tonight. The three-dimensional map of the stadium had appeared on his phone, and his position within it was shown as a green dot. The location of the signal was indicated as a red dot. Time to close the distance between the two.

"We've got a lead, bud," Hiccup muttered inside his coat gleefully. The cat curled up there yowled in a manner that seemed to say 'finally' and he felt it poking its head through of the zipper, wanting to see the screen with its own green eyes, even though as an animal, it probably could not understand what the squiggles and symbols meant.

"Okay, back inside." The boy gently but forcefully pushed his furry companion back into the inside of the coat. He knew from the signs outside the race track that this wasn't a pet-friendly establishment. Now that he got a lead on the case, the last thing he wanted was to be thrown out the place for bringing in his feline associate.

He rose up from his seat, stuffing his hands back into his coat. He tried not to flinch when a rather muscular spectator swung his arm in front of him while gesticulating wildly. Stepping carefully around Mr. Muscle-Mass, Hiccup tried to make his way out of the stands as discreetly as he could. He descended the steps to the open walkway, where latecomers pushed past him to get to the stalls and the toilet-goers pushed behind him to rush to the restrooms. He kept his head low and fixed his eyes to his screen, trying to look like an uninterested introverted tween who dragged here by irresponsible college friends and was eventually dumped with his phone as his only companion. Why such a specific characterization? Well, that was his cover story in case anyone asked.

The tracking program led him away from the main course itself to the vaulted corridor behind the seats of the stadium. The stench of tobacco, alcohol and rotting waste was especially concentrated here and it took much of his self-control as not to throw up. The area was stacked to rafters with patrons who obviously weren't here for the racing as much as for fraternizing. Most were poorly-disguised ruffians and thugs, engaged in unruly 'conversation' with one another in between spews of blood-curdling laughter. Some were just individuals who wanted to get away from the thunderous music and the crowds for a moment to puff their cigarettes in solitude. There were also more waitresses and sales girls here, smeared in makeup and tied in confectionary-themed costumes similar to that of the one who had talked to him earlier, shuffling in and out of the stadium. There were no fake smiles plastered on their faces here - just sheer exhaustion. They didn't even so much as look at him as they clacked away on their ridiculously high heels.

The boy weaved himself through the people, referring to his screen every so often. His target to be located moving towards the end of the tunnel, so, stuffing his phone back into the pocket, Hiccup quickened his pace.

He eventually arrived at the underground bar called, believe it or not, 'The Candy Bar', which was apparently the source of all the alcoholic beverages and the underdressed waitresses. While decorated with candy-themed furniture and bright swirling lighting that was supposed to represent lollipops, he couldn't help but get a sleazy, possibly creepy, vibe from this place.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, Hiccup moved himself to one of the standing tables and began making a show of fiddling with his phone, when all he was really doing was trying to pinpoint exactly which person was the source of the signal. The program was sadly on recalibration mode once again. Hiccup sighed. The speediness of common modern technology had spoiled him for prototypes.

"Drinks for you?" a high-pitched, sugary-sweet voice chimed at him.

"Um." He glanced up at another one of those plasticky waitresses they seemed to have everywhere here. He didn't want to buy anything and his father would kill him if he dared buy alcohol, even if just to maintain a cover, but he didn't want to get chased from his spot. "Got any water?"

"Still or sparkling?" the waitress hummed with a lip-gloss glossy simper. He could smell her perfume wafting towards him – an odd concoction of strawberry, muttonfudge and cinnamon. He wondered if perhaps Candy went a bit overboard with the whole confectionary concept.

"Still." After his answer, the waitress with a tag reading 'Taffyta' – rather appropriately toffee-like – went back to bar to get his order. He stared down at the screen and groaned when he found it still read 'recalibrating'.

Examining the patrons at the bar idly, he suddenly spotted a short figure moving through the tall ones. By her bright clothing and colorful hair-accessories, he assumed her to be one of the workers at the bar, but upon closer scrutiny, he realized that it was quite impossible for her to be so. For one, her bright clothes actually consisted of a turquoise sweater and matching striped legging, along with a short brown skirt. This was too casual to be part of the bar attendant dress-code. Secondly, she couldn't be more than twelve years of age.

The girl snuck her way through the patrons, occasionally hiding herself behind the tables when the waiters walked by. She was well aware that she was not supposed to be here, and yet she was still here. She made her way to a more desolate corner of the bar, keeping herself mostly obscured from the sight of others. She rocked herself back and forth idly, glancing around the bar every now and then. She was waiting for someone.

Then, Hiccup noted someone moving towards the under-aged patron. He appeared to be a well-built man in his twenties who could be described, Hiccup admitted reluctantly, as pretty good-looking. He had everything from the chiseled jaw to the photo-shop perfect figure. The only thing that was jarringly defective was the broken arm slung over his chest.

Hiccup watched with curiosity as the man with the bandaged arm conversed with the young girl. He was too far to hear exactly what was said, but by observation, he could tell the two were not strangers to each other. He noted that the young man dug into his coat for something bulky – an envelope – before handing it to the girl. She peered into the envelope and frowned, muttering something in a scathing manner to the fellow opposite. The man scowled at her before saying hissing angrily at the girl, almost jabbing his finger at her. A surge of protectiveness swelled in Hiccup's chest and his entire body went rigid. Whatever dirty work this kid had gotten herself into, she didn't deserve to be pushed around by some older, stronger guy.

The girl, however, seemed quite capable of looking after herself after all, because she said something to the man that made him draw back. It was as if he had just been bitten by a snake.

Then Hiccup felt his phone vibrate and looked down. The arrow had appeared on the screen, supposed to show him the source of the signal. He lifted his head to follow its direction.

It was pointing towards the man with his arm in a sling.

It was a perfect fit for Burgeshima's vigilante – a well-built young man who seemed perfectly capable of violent crime and had no qualms about committing illicit activity to meet his goal.

At that very moment, that suspect twisted his neck around to look behind him and he let out an emphatic swear. He tore away from the young girl and began diving into the drinking crowd. Hiccup shifted his eyes see what the man had seen. He spotted at least three or more suited men with earpieces having their heads turned towards the man. Hiccup also noticed that their coats, fashionable and sleek, were conveniently long enough to hide possibly firearms strapped to their belts.

The tracking program started going back to 'recalibration' mode once again, so Hiccup tucked the phone in his pocket. It was time for some manual tracking.

He crouched himself down and unzipped his coat, allowing the cat to leap out. Toothless was more than happy to be freed from his fabric confines and began stretching himself. Not wanting to waste anytime, Hiccup had to cut short the warm-ups, quickly directed the feline's attention to the fleeing target. "See that guy, bud? Follow him. Go!"

Though he wanted to relax some more, Toothless obeyed. He immediately darted off after the man, slipping too easily between the legs of the patrons without them knowing any better. Hiccup watched as their target untangled himself from the stuffy crowd, speeding down the corridor and running with all his might, not knowing that there was a small black blur hot on his heels. The boy then noted that the suspicious suited gentlemen also removed themselves from the crowd at the bar and they hurried after their target.

Hiccup glanced at down at his screen that was his watch, hitting the application called 'Useless-Feline'. The screen lit up with a minuscule map showing the location of the Bombay cat and hence the location of their target. As he squeezed his way through the drinkers and the waiters, Hiccup began plotting his course. This fellow, whom he suspected to be 13, was being pursued by other individuals – possibly betrayed allies or wronged mercenaries. If he was going to interrogate 13, which he fully intended to, he needed to get the guy alone. In other words, he needed to lose the other pursuers.

Upon freeing himself from the throng at the bar, he glanced down at his watch, pinching his fingers together on the screen to zoom in on the map. A hasty examination of this planted an idea in his head. So he zoomed off, swerving around and in between people, checking the map every now and then. He accidentally knocked into one of the serving girls, spilling some of the beer on her uniform. She was livid and began berating him.

"Really, really sorry!" Hiccup called to her as he continued sprinting down the corridor, unluckily knocking into two more people as he did. He earned harsh swears from these guys too, so this time he wasted no time on apologies, reckoning that he might gain his own set of pursuers if he dared to slow down.

He was fortunate enough to arrive at the lift landing just as the lift arrived. The second it emptied itself of passengers, Hiccup slipped himself in. Checking his phone again, he jabbed the button for the second floor. Once the door closed, he whipped out a pair of shades and set it on his nose. Appearance-wise, it looked like the ordinary sunglasses that overdressed punk teens might don, even at night. Application-wise, it was linked with his watch to track his target and it also helped to cover the upper part of his face. He was about to do some things that he preferred not to recognized for.

It also made him feel cool, but that was beside the point.

Nah, it was totally the point. He could have made contact lens.

Once the lift arrived at the designated destination, Hiccup leapt out, heading straight out to the stands, pushing feverishly past anyone in the way. He arrived just in time to witness all the spectators on their feet, jumping feverishly as the cars hit their laps. The umpire was screaming into the sound-box, stirring the crowds into a greater frenzy than Hiccup would have thought possible. At the same time, the figures on Hiccup's glasses brought to his attention that his target was now running towards him. He knew that the data would be quite accurate, for Toothless was a stealthy tracker.

Hiccup peered over the railing, to the stands on the first floor. Right under his spot was the opening that led to the exit of the stadium. He watched his target ran straight under him and then Toothless, racing a close second, following behind. When the suited guys came pushing through, Hiccup whipped out his weapon and leapt over the railing.

Weeks of practicing this particular manoeuvre allowed him to hit the ground of the first floor prosthetic first to cushion the drop, then his other foot to steady himself. Automatically, his knees bent themselves to absorb the impact and he held his arms out for balance. By the time he straightened himself up, he was already blocking the path of the suited pursuers.

His appearance before them was a surprise, and almost all of them staggered back in shock. Take advantage of this, Hiccup hitting the button of the spray and smeared the shimmering blue substance over them. At once, the suited guys were frozen in their positions, unable to move.

He grinned in triumphant, adjusting his digi-shades as he did. The spray can contained the spit of a Flightmare – a luminous breed of dragon that sprayed its victims with a bright blue liquid to paralyze them. It had been very difficult to extract it from the dragon and the amount that he did manage to extract was precious little. That was why he usually didn't use it often.

Spinning about, Hiccup zipped through the exit of the stadium, pushing past the last stragglers who still decided to go in even though the races were almost over. He glanced at his watch. Toothless, and hence the suspect, were in the parking lot.

The boy squeezed himself past the security booth, through the grand exit, and found himself in the open-air compound that was the parking area. He followed the directions his watch and began navigating his way through the cramped lots. Then he heard a cry of distress. "Get off, you filthy feline!"

Hiccup couldn't help but beam proudly. Good old Toothless. He added 'get nice juicy cod' on his mental to-do list.

Moving towards the source of the cry, Hiccup found himself walking through rows of parked motorcycles. Sure enough, the one the target was sitting on was amongst them. As he stepped in front of him, he found the target absorbed in wrestling with a black cat, who was sitting stubbornly on the hand clutch and refused to let him start the engine. After a bit of struggle, the man finally managed to shake Toothless off, tossing the ball of fur out of the road. The cat landed immediately on its feet and snarled at the target.

"Well, I think you're gross and unhygienic, so there!" the man spat back rather childishly.

Hiccup decided that enough was enough. He called out to the man, "Hey!"

The guy finally noticed his presence and glanced him up and down. "Oh, good. Do you own this mangy mongrel?"

"Firstly, Toothless isn't a mongrel. He's a Bombay cat.," Hiccup retorted, annoyance weighed on inch of his voice. "Secondly, you can drop the act. You know who we are."

The man stared at him blankly, then at the cat, who was still hissing at him even as it crawled towards Hiccup. With a plaintive expression, the suspect told him, "I think I would remember a cat that scary. And he's not Toothless, by the way. You suck at names."

Hiccup ignored the jibe, raising a brow instead. He adjusted digi-shades towards the guy, taking a few pictures. He could get Fishlegs to do checks on the images later. "Seriously? You're still trying to fake it."

"I'm not faking anything," the man insisted, shaking his head at them both with a confused expression. "What are you? The evil cat brigade? Are you trying to help creepy cats like this create some kind of cat-pocalypse and take over the world?"

Toothless purred threateningly at his derider so Hiccup quickly picked him up and stroked him, trying to soothe his anger. "Stop it. We got you, 13, so quit acting weird."

"Weird? You're the weird one," the suspect protested, looking seriously alarmed. "I'm not _13_!" He pressed his lips together, then added, "But real flattered you think so, though. It's the superhuman good looks, isn't it?"

Hiccup had a huge temptation to throw Toothless at the guy's face, but didn't because he knew the feline wouldn't appreciate it.

"Fine, well, if you aren't 13,-" Hiccup yanked his phone from his pocket "-then why is this tracker pointing at-" he broke off. The stupid program wasn't 'recalibrating' this time and it told him quite plainly that his real target was at least twenty miles behind him now, and the signal was getting weaker. Then it went into recalibration again.

He couldn't understand. He glanced up at his assumed suspect with the broken arm on a sling. He was so sure the arrow was pointing at him.

Then it dawned on Hiccup.

The girl. The young girl with the colorful clips and the turquoise sweater. The signal was coming from _her_.

"Odin's sneakers." Hiccup ran a hand through his hair, completely thrown off. That kid couldn't be 13 … or could she?

He turned sharply to the man on the motorcycle, who was in the process of starting it up. "Who was the girl?"

The ex-suspect sent him a quizzical expression, looking increasing disturbed. "What?"

"The kid in the bar! The one you were talking to before you ran out!"

"Look," the man already had the engine revved, turning the handle pointedly, "I think you're a strange and possibly mentally-unstable kid, especially since you're wearing glass at night and you own a demon disguised as a cat." He thumbed the digital accessory with his good hand. "So if you think I'm going to tell you anything, you're sorely-"

Toothless, who was balanced on Hiccup's shoulder, growled at the man, making him recoil. Hiccup nodded in approval, folding his arms.

The man paused, eyeing the bristling feline warily. He finally said, "She's called Vanellope van Schweetz. Don't ask me if that's her real name, 'coz I don't know and I don't care."

"Where can I find her?" the boy probed, unrelenting.

"Usually here." The man jerked his chin at the stadium. "At working hours."

"And non-working hours?"

"She sometimes seen at Litwak's Arcade. Don't know if she'll be there now, 'coz it's closed A.T.M." The ex-suspect darted a glance at the cat, who was still glaring at him. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Thank you for your time, Mister-"

"Rider. Flynn Rider. Now-" he was tapping on the handle of the motorcycle irritably, adjusting the injured arm on his sling, "-can you and your weird cat just leave me alone? I'm kind of running for my life now, F.Y.I."

"Well, thanks you for your time, and sorry for bothering you." After he got what he wanted, Hiccup could afford to be polite. He even stepped out of the way so that the motorcycle could pass.

The ex-suspect hit the pedal and zoomed forward, only glancing back at them once. He shuddered at the sight of the glowering cat and turned his head ahead. Hiccup had to admit that balancing on that vehicle whilst one arm was broken was quite a feat.

"Alright." The boy pocketed the phone, and turned his eyes to the watch, searching up the maps option. He keyed in the location that 'Flynn Rider' had named and was relieved to find that it actually existed.

"You're an excellent interrogator, aren't you?" The boy scratched his furry companion between the ears. The cat purred in enjoyment, basking in the praise.

But this was short-lived, for soon enough, Hiccup placed Toothless back on the ground. The cat wrinkled his nose in disappoint. He had rather hoped for a full-out scratching session.

"We've got work to do, Toothless, and quite a bit of flying," the boy told the cat, industrious as ever, despite the little exercise they had. Hiccup spotted a secluded alley beyond the car park, and gestured for the cat to follow. "C'mon!"

Both of them did not stop running until they arrived at the alleyway. Hiccup glanced back and forth before deeming it safe.

"Okay." He took in a deep breath, before reciting the words. _"Þá gaf sínum Sveini, sverðs minn faðir herðu!"_

* * *

Merida was ashamed to admit that she had actually fainted like some rescued damsel in a story.

By the time she had woken up, she had already been laid down on a hospital bed alone in a private ward. Her gun wound had been washed and re-dressed. She had been changed out of her filthy, ragged clothes to a cleaner set of her own attire, no doubt brought over by her P.A.. The nurses who had come in later explained that she had passed out due to shock and cold, and the Big Hero 6 captain, Jinketsu, had flown her straight to the Burgeshima National Hospital.

Apparently, the kidnapping of the heiress to Dunbroch Bank Trust and Co. had managed to hit the newsstands, and the entire spectacle of RONIN landing her in the hospital was captured by dozens of reporters, who somehow had known to assemble themselves at the Accident and Emergency Department on that very night. As the doctors had wheeled her in, Jinketsu and his automaton companion had taken a few questions from the press before flying off, presumably back to San Fransokyo. They couldn't stay long – publicly, at least - before the Burgeshima Police Department would be forced to take action. Not to mention the Nightmare Yakuza.

After gaining back her consciousness and being forced to hydrate herself, Merida got her working phone back and managed to put in a request to see her babysitter. He had seemed slightly shaken by the ride in the air after they had picked him up, but had remained completely unfazed by how much blood splattered over him. She wondered if he was feeling at all well and remembered that he owed her a story on how he survived the car explosion.

But that was for later. For now, Merida had to go through at least two calls from her mother, where she explained that she was quite fine and her wounds were healing up nicely. Her mother had suggested having her sent back to Dunbuoka, to which the redheaded girl had objected against fervently under the guise that she wanted to complete her visit here. Her mother sounded pleased that her daughter was taking more initiative to learn about the family company, though a little worried.

 _"Maybe I should get you a bodyguard,"_ her mother had sighed on the other line. _"I sometimes forget that Burgeshima is so much more dangerous than Dunbuoka."_

Merida had spat out every vaguely rational sounding objection she could against the notion till her mother finally dropped it. All the same, the girl knew that it would not be last time that she would hear of this. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Way to make disappearing for her hero work harder.

Speaking of hero-work, her insistence to stay in Burgeshima was not for the reasons her mother thought they were. For one, her bear pendant was still missing. She had to go down to streets later to ask for it. It would have been picked up by someone by now though, and she desperately hoped that person would be honest enough to return it to the police. If she had to chase it down some black market network that stretched across twenty different states, she would be ripping off some faces.

Her phone rang for the third time that hour and it wasn't her mother. This was the call that she had been expecting. Jinketsu hadn't been able to elaborate on the 'hero-matters' after they picked Hans up from the oil rig, so he had promised to call her. Of course, he knew her number and she didn't know his – a familiar situation once again.

Merida tapped on the green button on her phone. "Hello?"

 _"Is it safe to talk?"_ she heard the filtered voice ring into her ears. Even though he knew her secret identity, Jinketsu had yet to share with her his, not like Knight who had told her his almost immediately. Yet, the first time Knight had sent a call to her through her private phone, she had maddened beyond measure. However, perhaps because Jinketsu had met her under better circumstance, or perhaps he had to prove that he was just as irritating as Knight, her dislike towards the hero of San Fransokyo was mostly subdued, possibly non-existent.

Her eyes flitted briefly around the ward room. Being an heiress came with the advantage of having a wholly private ward. She adjusted the controls of the bed such that she could sit up better with resting to heavily on her wound. Merida then answered in the phone, "Yep. Fire away."

 _"Okay. To sum it up, Hiccup decided to go and track down 13 after he told me how to rescue you."_

"How?" was her prompt question after she remembered who 'Hiccup' apparently was.

 _"He said that he managed to track 13 to central Burgeshima before the guy stopped him. He's got a tech-friend on his side who helped him narrow down the possible sources of the call via omitting the unlikely signal points and hooking onto the specific source of the signal."_ Hearing Merida's puzzled silence, Jinketsu added, _"Basically, the call that 13 made to him has this special signal, and Hiccup's following that signal."_

"I should go and help him," the girl said, twisting her body around to lower the rails on the bed, prepared to jump off.

 _"Um, you can't. Not even I can."_

"Why not?"

 _"He's on radio silence, so he's completely untraceable,"_ there was an edge in Jinketsu's mechanical voice, betraying how uneasy he was with the idea. _"I have no clue where he is. Not even his own team knows where he is."_

"Knight has his own team?" That was a notion she had never quite considered, but it made sense. A background team that helped in his research and helped him on the mission. No wonder he managed to get so much done so quickly, compared to her. _'The price_ _of_ _not having any friends,'_ the girl thought wryly to herself. Out loud, she said, "Anyway, why did he do that?"

 _"Well, apparently, 13 has some hacking skills – that's how he sent Hiccup the threat call via his own private communication network. He also keeps tight surveillance over Burgeshima - cameras everywhere and stuff. That's how he found both your and Hiccup's identities."_

Merida suddenly heard the cocking of a gun. As she raised her head, she found her gazing down a hollow metal barrel, with a dark figure standing behind it.

A dark figure who had 'XIII' scratched on his chest plate.

She froze on the bed.

 _"He also claims that he knows everything that happens in this city."_ Jinketsu had gone on, not knowing what had just occurred on the other end of the line. _"Pretty arrogant guy, but I think there's some truth in it."_

The steel mask made it impossible for her to decipher the expression on his face, but the crooking of his finger at her told her that he wanted her to hand her phone over. Reluctantly, she removed it from her ear and held it out to the vigilante. He took it in his metal gauntlet and held to his ear – or at least, Merida presumed that was where the ear was, since the mask had it obscured.

"Hi, is this Hiro Hamada on the line?" the dark figure's metallic, grinding voice emerged through his vocal filter as he spoke into the mouthpiece of the phone. "Here's a message for you - go back to San Fransokyo and never come back." He lowered the phone from his ear, gazing at the screen for a silent moment.

Then, the figure held out to the screen to her in an almost awkward fashion. "Could help me press the 'end call' button? I realize that with these gloves on, I can't do anything to the screen."

Staring at him suspiciously, then at the gun pointed at her face, Merida reached out towards the phone and tapped the needed button. He checked the phone screen once more, then handed it back to her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she told him, both hands clasping the rectangular device unsurely, still peering at the weapon with distaste.

"Oh, um." He lowered the weapon, fitting it back on the holster. Merida noted that other than that gun and its twin strapped on the opposite side, he didn't seem to be carrying much with him, but with how he kept himself in the shadows, she couldn't tell for sure. "I'm just here to talk to you. I promise I won't hurt you. Probably." He added the last word as an afterthought.

Evidence of her disbelief was written all over her face. "I suppose you're here to tell me to get out of your city."

"Wow. Are you a secret psychic?" he said in a rather whimsical manner, rubbing his metal chin as he did. "Never would have imagined that the Wisp was so talented. Um-" he rubbed his metal gauntlets thoughtfully together "-how's the lack of teleportation powers coming though?"

She suddenly felt a huge urge to punch him, but checked herself. He hadn't harmed her so far and it would be unwise to provoke him. Besides, her arm was still healing – couldn't do a decent hook in this state. Instead, she asked, "How did you know I don't have my powers right now?"

"Because I noticed that you lost _this_ during your little tussle with a Triad member." He produced a silver necklace, holding it by the chain. The pendant bearing the three intertwined bear shapes swung like pendulum under his fist.

Merida leaned forward to grab it, but 13 drew his arm back, his other free hand tapping his holster meaningfully. The girl caught the subtle action and reclined. She was not exactly trying to get herself shot twice in a night

"Pretty little thing, isn't it?" The vigilante had his head tilted towards the pendant. "Took me a while to find out what it was. It looks like any other piece of ordinary jewellery if you don't check it through. "

"It isn't a piece of ordinary jewellery. It's a family heirloom," Merida insisted with a frown. "Now, give it back, or are you a thief as well as a murderer?"

"What is with you and Hiccup trying to guilt-trip me all the time?" 13 complained with a mockingly sorrowful shake of his head. He adjusted the silver chain in his grasp, producing a clinking sound as the metal rubbed against metal. "But nice try on distracting me." He lifted the pendant to his eye-level. "I wonder how much you paid to have it enchanted. The magic's very strong."

"And what do you know about magic?" the girl sneered, folding her arms, trying not to show how queasy she felt. She knew that most people thought she was a real Super, and to be honest, she wanted them to think that way. But biologically, she had inherited no gifts, nor had there ever been a freak chemical accidents around to imbue her fantastic abilities. She was just a girl with a bow and the determination to foot the costs.

13 didn't seem to care about her hostile demeanor. The hollow slits in his mask stared down at her, making her feel oddly like shrinking back. "Enough to know that what this 'heirloom' of yours-" he tossed the pendant over to her, which she caught deftly "-possesses more destructive capacity than a nuclear warhead."

Merida pressed the silver pendant back in her palms. Her fingers rapidly traced the carving on its face and she let out a sigh of relief as she noted that the emerald on the eyes of the bears still turned blue intermittently. She then lifted her head to the masked intruder, sticking up her chin to him defiantly at him. "Says the guy who bombed a building and killed over forty innocents."

"I will neither deny nor confirm your accusations, simply because I don't have time to," was 13's brisk, snarky reply. "However, I think I should make something clear. When I tell Knight and Jinketsu to leave, it's because I don't want other heroes interfering with the business of my city. When I tell you to leave, however,-" he took a step towards her, making her scramble back involuntarily "-it's because I know the danger you pose to my city when you wear _that_ -" he pointed at the necklace "-around your neck. It's tempting to confiscate it, but I know that it's of far too much personal importance to you."

"So consider this a warning" he called to her, as he drew himself away from the bed and moved towards the window. He undid the latch and pushed open. "I have no issue with Merida Dunbroch being here. I understand that she has … parties-" there was a slight shudder as he said this "- to attend and so forth. However, the minute the Wisp appears, I will act. Don't mistake my politeness for weakness."

Merida didn't answer. For some reason, she could not bring herself too.

Fortunately, 13 didn't really expect it of her. "Glad we talked. Now-" he lifted his arm to himself, and Merida spotted that he had a glowing screen attached to it "-I've got a certain 'involuntary spasm of diaphragm' looking for me." He made a show of thinking, then shrugged. "Oh well, see what I feel like doing at three in the morning."

He leapt out of the window and disappeared into the darkness. By the time Merida had snapped out of her shock and crossed the room to gaze out, there was no trace of him. Just the dark sky, which would turn bright blue in less than five hours, and the sleeping city below.

She heard the door creak open. "Merida?"

Her entire body still felt stiff as she spun around, straining her wound unexpected as she did. This visitor however wore no mask, bore no guns (except for the taser thing, he probably got it back) and he seemed more concerned than threatening.

"Should you be walking around?" he asked with a raised brow, closing the door behind her.

Merida rolled her eyes as she pulled the window shut with her good hand. "It's just flesh wound, BS." When she took a second-look at him, she realized that he had a bandage around his head. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, this?" Hans squinted up at the dressing sitting above his brow like a bandana, scooping up his red locks over it. "Bit of a concussion. I don't feel anything, but the doctor freaked out, so… yep."

As Merida stepped away from the window and closer to him, she realized that there was something trickling down his upper lip. "I think you've got a-" she pointed to the spot in question.

He blinked at her in surprise, before swiping a finger under his nose. That finger was stained red immediately. "Really? I thought I managed to stop it."

He made a beeline for the tissue box at the side of her bed, helping himself to the pieces as he attempted to plug the leak. She watched this with her head tilted on an incline, then glanced down at the pendant in her hand. She couldn't help but replay the incident that resulted in her losing it, then how she attempted to return to seek it, then how the car exploded behind her. He had no chance of escaping, so how was he still here, pillaging the tissue box to stop a nosebleed?

"How did you survive?" Merida asked him without preamble. She was never one to beat around the bush. "The car bomb, I mean."

He glanced up at her, looking rather unlikely his usual clean-cut self with the bandage around his head and a nostril covered with a piece of tissue. After a quiet moment, he said, "I was rescued."

Her brows shot up in surprise. She waited for him to enlighten her.

"One second, I was in front of a fire. The next moment, I was in the middle of some street I didn't recognize, tossed on the ground. I got a bruise on the back from that, but besides that I was alive." He crunched the blood-soaked sheets into a ball, before grabbing another and pressing it against his nose. "After that, I went to the police to make a report – not that it helped. Then I went to look for you myself."

"How did you know where to find me?" the girl prodded with increased curiosity.

"I learnt quite a bit about Shen and his Triad when I took that case last time," was all he offered as reply. It was then Merida realized that in many of her conversations with him, there were many unanswered questions. And there were still more to ask: where did he that taser-gun from? How did he had managed to fight off the gangsters so well on his own in oil rig? Why had he been covered in blood when they picked him up?

"Apparently, we can both get discharged right now, if you want," he told her, smoothly ignoring the glaring blanks in his explanation. "I don't know about you, but I'm hate the smell of antiseptic."

Merida only nodded, holding back the barrage of uncertainties that were ringing in her mind. When she looked at her babysitter this time, there was a new element added to it that was apart from the usual mix of contempt, admiration and amusement - doubt.

She slipped the necklace around her neck, ensuring that the clasp was fastened well before she followed him out the ward. She had to admit her arms were shaking, and not because of the cold. The encounter with Burgeshima's notorius crime-fighter was still fresh in her mind. There was nothing particularly scary about his costume (in a matter of fact, she thought the steel mask a bit over the top) and she had too many guns pointed at her face by this time to feel traumatized by it anymore. But there was something about his presence alone that was just disconcerting. Foreboding even.

If 13 was skilled enough to work out Jinketsu's secret identity (she made a mental note to search up 'Hiro Hamada' later), as well as Knight's and her own, who could say what he didn't know? Who could say what he couldn't do? Who could say what he _wouldn't_ do?

13 also knew that Knight was looking for him, which could mean that Knight might very well be walking into a trap next. As much as she preferred not to, she had better warn him first. He did send Jinketsu to save her.

But how?

Then she realized the dark vigilante had given her the answer. She didn't need to use technology to find Knight.

Now, where did she put that cake...

* * *

It was at the evening of November Third, 2014, when Hiccup Haddock attempted to make lasagna for dinner.

"Then add one layer of sauce, then add lasagna noodles, then spread the ricotta cheese over," he read aloud from the digital pad sitting on the kitchen counter as he diligently prepared the ingredients. He scooped the meat sauce into the bottom of the casserole dish, flattening it out with his spoon before gingerly adding the stiff, starchy pasta over it. Finally, he scooped up the ricotta cheese and began spreading it over the pasta. "Sprinkle with cheddar, mozzarella and parmesan, then repeat until dish is full. It's not that hard, right Toothless?"

His Bombay cat was, too, sitting on the kitchen counter, somehow quite confident that he himself would not be mistaken for an ingredient in the meal. The creature had curled itself with into a ball, staring up at the shining pieces of cutlery hanging from the dry rack, as if contemplating pawing it.

Hiccup sighed as he observed his feline companion. "Toothless, off the counter. You know how Dad feels about that, don't you?"

Indeed, the Commissioner of the Berkazaki Police Department (BZPD) had zero fondness for pets of any kind, and cats were apparently the worst. _"Proud, stuck-up creature who line themselves with spit,"_ he had once declared haughtily. When he learned that his son was keeping one, he had all but disowned him. Eventually, time wore his temper away and he grudgingly gave space to the furry new resident of the Haddock House.

His father did have rules for the cat though: no entering his room, no entering the bathroom, no sitting on his armchair in the living room (Toothless could shed fur on Hiccup's chair, for all he cared) and no, absolutely no, climbing, sitting or walking on eating spaces.

The cat made a scornful sound at the boy, to which Hiccup merely pulled a face at. Toothless then reluctantly rose from his comfortable sitting spot, first by the hind legs to stretch himself, then straightening his front legs. Instead of leaping off the counter like his master had expected, though Toothless marched straight up to the boy. Just as Hiccup picked up the bowl of meat sauce, he felt the familiar sensation of paws pressing against his arm.

"Um, Toothless, what-" he tilted his head slightly to the left just in time to see the cat climbing up his left arm, steadily ascending his shoulder "-Toothless, no, no, don't you-" by that time, the Bombay cat had made its way up to his head and plopped itself there; its belly on his crown and the furry black limbs curled around the sides of his head "-great, just great."

Moving Toothless would mean that he would he have to stop what he was doing, so Hiccup eventually settled for donning his 'cat-hat' while preparing the rest of the meal. It was actually wasn't very difficult to do the layering, just tedious, and the boy was glad when he finally sprinkled the last the parmesan cheese on the top.

"I don't have any basil leaves, so live with it," he said to his digital pad in lofty manner – not that the pad cared whether he followed the recipe to the letter. If the device had a mind of its own, it would probably be happier sitting at the charging point than in this kitchen with this irritating boy who kept talking aloud to himself.

"Right! Now time for the oven," Hiccup said cheerfully. Toothless made a bored mew. The dish didn't interest him much since it didn't have any fish in it.

The boy picked up the casserole and was loading it in the oven when he heard the clinking of keys and the hinges groaning as they were forcefully swung open. "I'm back, son!"

A shot of panic ran up his spine and he almost dropped the glass dish on the floor. It wouldn't do for his father to see Toothless in the kitchen.

Shoving the dish into the open as quickly as he could, Hiccup shut the door of the oven before racing out of the kitchen, grabbing the cat from his head. Toothless let out a displeased yowl after he was set down in Hiccup's bed and to show it, he leapt off the mattress and followed his master. Hiccup was quicker, however, and managed to pull the door shut before the feline to climb out. "See you after dinner, bud!"

After turning the knob, the boy did feel a little guilty, so he opened the door slightly again, and through the gap added, "I'll get you some raw Icelandic cod later. You love cod, don't you?"

The cat mewed in unwilling agreement.

"Great! So …see you later." Then he shut the door to Toothless' whines.

Hiccup dashed back to the kitchen to make sure that he had really closed the oven door and wasn't burning the kitchen down when he almost ran straight into the humongous mountain of a man.

"Oh, heeeeyyy, erm, Dad." Yep, that was not awkward at all.

His father, towering two heads over him, bore an expression behind the bush of his beard that was not quite readable. One bulging arm ripped with muscle held a suitcase that was hilarious tiny compared to the man's build. The other held a stack of letters, recently cleared from the mailbox. "Son."

Both of them stood face to face for a good minute or so, staring at each other intently while not really wanting to stare at each other at all. The only sounds were the hum of the oven as it slowly baked the cheese in and the twiddling of Hiccup's thumbs.

"So, I made dinner – I mean, I'm making dinner."

His father glanced at the oven, then back at him. "I can see that. What are you making?"

"Lasagna." Seeing the baffled expression on his father's expression, he elaborated, "You know, well, it's that thing that's kind'a of like spaghetti, but stacked up in a pie."

"So it's a spaghetti?"

"Erm, no. Like I said, it's-" he used his hands to making a stacking motion "-layered, like a pie."

"So it's a pie?"

"Erm, not exactly. It doesn't have a crust or anything."

"Then what is it?"

"It's more like a, um-" he was trying to pluck the words from the air, by the way his hands waved around "-a pasta-pie?"

"What's pasta?"

"The thing that spaghetti's made of." Hiccup could barely keep his voice from sounding strangled.

His father quirked a brow at him. "So you used spaghetti to make a pie?"

"Noooooo," the boy drawled, resisting the urge to bury his face in his palms. "Err, nevermind. All you really need to know is that it's edible."

His father nodded slowly, before moving out of the kitchen towards the bedrooms, muttering under his breath, _"Spaghetti pie. Hmmph."_

Hiccup let out a heavy exhale. Well, that wasn't how he had hoped for this evening to start.

Frankly, he was never much of a cook. Dinner was usually take-out, bought by himself or his father at alternate turns. Gobber would occasionally drop by and whip something up in the kitchen, but it wasn't that fantastic either. Besides, regular cooking schedules seemed quite laughable in this particular household, considering the father often spent his nights working at the BZPD and the son spent his hunting down criminals.

Yep, that was what he wanted to talk to his father about. After he had snagged the Red Death and the rest of the Helheim's Gate gang, the police department had begun to lay off their efforts to arrest Knight and his winged steed, but he knew that privately his dad had not quite let the matter go. Breaking the law, even in the name of doing good, was still breaking the law, his father would stubbornly insist. There were proper methods and procedures to do these things, and that was by following the system.

Well, Hiccup didn't disagree with the system - theoretically. In reality, it was flawed, ridden with holes that criminals leapt through with glee and the innocent fell through all too often. The police couldn't solve every crime and they couldn't catch every criminal, so that's where Knight came in. He was not a bane, not even a boon, but an ally. If he could make the commissioner of BZPD see that, it could change everything. Justice could never be swifter.

Except that the last time Knight had tried to have a civil conversation with Stoick Haddock on the roof of the BZPD headquarters, it had turned out that the latter had set up an ambush for him. It was only Fury's speediness that had helped them dodge the bullets and zoom away to safety. Hiccup was all too ready to throw the towel in after that attempt, but at Gobber's urging, he decided to try again – just this time without a mask and with dinner for a bribe. If required, he would reveal the identity of Knight, but he rather hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

The gangly boy slid himself uneasily into one of the plastic chairs in the dining room, tracing the outline of the tablecloth patter nervously. Did he mention that talking to people was not one of his strong points? Never mind that Astrid thought that he was persuasive, because she was wrong (don't tell her he said that. He wanted to keep his arm). He didn't really know how to talk to people, especially if that person was a stubborn as a bull and four times his own size.

When his father returned to the kitchen, Hiccup noted that he had not changed out of his work clothes and his heart sank. That meant that immediately after the meal, the man would be returning back to the office. This was not an uncommon practice, even in his younger years, but it meant that Hiccup had spent many nights alone in the house, wondering whether he might see his father after the night. He did not grudge his father's commitment to his duty, for he himself had felt similar tuggings on his heart ever since he took up the mantle as Knight. But sometimes, Hiccup just wished that his father had a less dangerous and demanding job.

Grimly, his father sat himself across him on the dining table. There were two chairs' worth of space between them, but as far as Hiccup was concerned, the chasm between them was much wider than that. "Son, I need to talk to you."

"Erm," he drummed his finger nervously on the table, "actually, I have to talk to you too."

Both of them went quiet for a moment, expecting the other to say their piece first. Then, realizing that the other was not going to speak until they did, they both opened their mouths at the same time and the words clashed against one another to form an intelligible mess.

"I've decided-"

"I think that-"

"- that you -"

"- that you-"

"-should join-"

"-should work with-"

"-the police academy."

"-Knight and Fury."

"What?" both of them exclaimed simultaneously, baffled expressions on their faces.

His father scratched his beard uneasily, then gestured to him. "Um, you go first."

"By all means," Hiccup said with a generous wave, not really looking forward to sharing his piece, "you go first."

"Okay." He watched his father straighten himself up before saying, "You got your wish. Police academy selection camp starts next week. You're going."

Alarms went off in his brain, rattling the insides of his skull. Police academy selection camp? Hiccup mentally checked when his last birthday was. He was still fifteen! He still had three years left of high school! Had that much time gone past without him noticing?

"I know what you're thinking – that you're too young to enter it officially. You definitely won't get in this year, but it's a good experience and who knows? You might get the calling for real. Besides, you're the one who's been pestering me to let you go. So now you're in. Congratulations."

"Oh, man." Now it was Hiccup's turn to awkwardly rub his neck. It was his fault, actually. Prior to his discovery about his peculiar heritage that involved training a Night Fury disguised as a cat, he had been persistent about entering the police force, even trying to join the junior cadet corps in high school (it didn't work, and they didn't do real police things anyway). On hindsight, he figured that all this was more to gain his father's approval than anything. Now that he tasted the freedom of being superhero, he wasn't exactly inclined to go back into the borders of the system. He didn't need the paperwork, or the politics, or the superiors. He like his own way of fighting crime too much to get, well, a 'calling', as his father said. "Um, Dad, I'm pretty sure I don't want to be a policeman."

"Of course, you want to be a policeman," his father said, as if completely mishearing what his son said. In reality, Hiccup knew that he was stubbornly just refusing to acknowledge what he was saying.

"Okay, rephrase." Hiccup sucked in a breath and said this time with greater emphasis, "Dad, I [can't] be a policeman."

"Why not?"

"Well, I'm skinny, and unfit, and I can't even run without puffing." All these were no longer true. After taking up the mantle, he had been forced to work out almost every night, either when on the job or when Astrid dragged him to the gym and barked at him to give her fifty. Hiccup had even taken to wearing loose, flappy long-sleeved shirts just to cover his increasingly toned muscles along with the bruises from his fights. Of course, his father wouldn't know all this. After being in the police force this long, you would think his observation skills would have picked all this up.

"You'll do fine."

"I'll die," the boy declared darkly.

"No, you won't," his father contradicted. "You're going for the camp. You're going to try. You're going to consider the career - and I mean seriously. "Do we have a deal?"

Hiccup narrowed his brows together, scrunching up his face unhappily. "This conversation is feeling very one-sided."

His father ignored this snarky quip, demanding again, "Do we have a deal?"

Two weeks of Christmas break for police academy selection camp? Why not? It's not as if he had a city to protect.

He hoped that Astrid would have been trained sufficiently to cover for him by then. Admittedly, she had only started a month ago, but she was more physically and athletically capable than him. She would have to make it - Berkazaki couldn't do without Knight for two weeks.

Hiccup sighed. "Deal."

His father let out an exhale in grim satisfaction, folding his arms and nodding. "Good. Very good." There was a pause as Hiccup's eyes darted towards the oven to check the time left – still thirty minutes. Great. Then he heard his father continued on in what Hiccup had dubbed the 'chiefly' voice, "We need good men and women in the force. Fine, upright citizens with respect for the law and the right way of doing things. And no matter what color the media likes to paint,-" his father's gaze happened to rest on the newspaper sitting innocuously on the dining table, spilling praise about another of Knight's exploits "- there's a right way of doing things, and a wrong way doing things."

He could have stayed silent then. He had so often when he heard of his father grumble about Knight, but in the back of his head, he knew that he had been preparing to speak about his father for ages. He had spent so long just trying to work up the courage. He could not just let this go. "Dad, does it really matter how it's done as long as it's done?"

His father gazed down on his as if he had just declared that he was leaving school to join a hippie troupe and would spending the rest of life humming tunes to a banjo.

"Erm, okay, that came out wrong." Hiccup fumbled over how he could better phrase his thought. "Well, look, Knight and Fury might kind of be unconventional in their methods, but they do catch criminals. What's wrong with that?"

"Even criminals catch criminals, Hiccup," his father answered without missing the beat. "I heard that down in one of the towns nearest the coast – Burgeshima, I think – they've got mobsters would go around catching criminals in their city and punishing them however they like, including cutting off their hands and throwing it to the sharks."

A flare of indignation rose in Hiccup's chest, but he stifled it quickly. He could not reveal just how insulted he felt by his father's lack of trust in him. "I- erm, Knight has never done anything like that. He's doesn't use excessive violence on criminals and he had never killed anyone. He always turns the criminals over to the police to be tried according to the law." The boy could not help fidgeting a little as he threw in that. "What's wrong with that?"

"Well, if he did, who will stop him?"

Hiccup had to admit that he was slightly stunned. "What?"

"If one day, this dragon rider decides to do whatever he wants, however he wants," Stoick elaborated on the scenario, "and he starts killing every criminal he comes across – no differentiation between the pickpocket and the murderer – who will stop him?"

The boy shifted uneasily in his seat. He didn't need to take it personally – no, he couldn't take it personally. It was just a hypothetical scenario. No big deal. "Well, there are other heroes from other cities, right? Like the Big Hero 6. They can stop him."

"Well, what if they don't?" His father pressed firmly, his brows knitting together and the jaw under the beard tightened. "What if somehow he defeated them? Or worse still, what if they think he's right and they join him?" He gesticulated roughly at the newspaper, almost tearing it up in his rising fury. "What if they decide to enact justice in whatever way they deemed fit? Who will stop them? Who _can_ stop them?"

Hiccup opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't, because he couldn't think of an answer, no matter how hard he racked his brains – and trust me, he did rack his brains hard.

He heard his father take a deep breath to compose himself, before continuing his tirade, "When it is a policeman, you can hold him accountable. You train him according to regulations. You have a hierarchy and a system to keep him in check. When he crosses the line, you drag him back. You can punish him. But for these _'Supers'_ -" the bitterness was evident by his tone alone, and his expression matched it too well "-there are no watchdogs. Even if you wanted to hold them accountable for the crimes they do, how can you? He rides a fire-breathing dragon and carries technology beyond that of the common man. You can't make him toe the line when you're so human and he's-" there was a rare flash of fear on his father's countenance "-he's like the spawn of Loki himself. Like a god – young and reckless, but no less a god."

A snarky part of him wanted to point out that if he indeed was the spawn of Loki, then his father would be the Trickster God of the old Nordic legends. The optimistic part of him wanted to take note that his father had compared him to a god – which was kind of cool. Sort of like the Golden Age heroes. The pragmatic, pessimistic side of him – which took up at least ninety percent of himself – recognized that none of these comparison were not meant in a good way.

It was like those lines they kept repeating in the Anti-Hero debate. How did it go? _'Everyone needs a hero, but not everyone should have one.'_

He had to change this. He needed his father to understand. He wanted his father to know, to trust, that Knight was not some power-hungry adrenaline junkie who got high on crime-fighting (not that he wasn't an adrenaline junkie – riding a dragon did that to you). Knight was just, well, a boy wanted to do something worthwhile. Something that would be more than what he was. Something that would make his dad proud.

"Dad," Hiccup began after taking a deep breath, "I'm Kn-"

The doorbell rang just at the same time his father's cellphone went off in his bedroom. Immediately, his father rose from his seat and marched towards duty's call, not staying to even inquire what his son was going to say.

"Well, um," Hiccup said to no one in particular. He glanced at the oven. Now twenty minutes was left. "I'll get the door, I guess."

As he headed out of the kitchen out to the living room, he wondered who it might be visiting at this hour. Maybe it was Gobber, looking for some beer and a spot on the couch. Maybe Fishlegs was coming over to discuss about some new programs that he was developing for better live communications between them while crime fighting. Hiccup knew that he had been experimenting with a different format of software. Maybe it was Astrid, here to give him tips and notes so that he catch up on class.

He undid the latch on the front door and pulled it open to be greeted by unfamiliar faces. "Can I help-"

The first bullet moved before he did, but he was still sharp enough to twist himself away in time, letting the lead projectile fly past his chest instead of hitting it. He quickly grabbed the barrel of the gun, and as his training had taught him, he jabbed on the pressure point behind the elbow, dragging his assailant closer to him so as to shield himself from the other gun-wielders with the larger body. His attacker's gun jerked up, and all the bullets flew up into the ceiling instead of any worthy target. Once the magazine was empty, Hiccup grabbed the fellow by the elbow, stamped his shin and tossed him towards one of his co-workers, whose own firearms went clattering on the floor. Both went tumbling on the ground.

But that was only two out of three of the company, and the last third of little ambush gang also had a gun. A gun that dispensed three bullets.

Hiccup managed to avoided all.

Except the one that ricocheted.

He screamed when his left tibia bone broke and he had to grab the frame of the door to keep himself from falling flat on his face. Spurts of blood spurted from the new wound, forming a pool of red at his feet. He was in agony. He was dizzy. He was staring blearily at the face his attacker. And he realized, he knew the grin. The face had been obscured by the hat, if not he would have recognized him sooner, especially by the three lines tattooed across his eye.

"Dagur," he gasped weakly as he clumsily tried to clutch the wound on his leg.

Dagur the Deranged was the only one of the Helheim's Gate gang to escape punishment, despite the fact that he had been the second command after the Red Death himself. Why? He was only fifteen years old – Hiccup's age. Most of the harshest charges were dropped against him and he was sent to juvenile hall instead of prison. That wasn't the worst part.

"Brother!" the scarred creature greeted him with way too much delight, spinning his revolver on his finger. Hiccup always hated that title, but Dagur had been calling him that since kindergarten. Yes, they had gone to the same kindergarten. Dagur had dug up a big pit in the backyard and shoved Hiccup in before trying to bury him alive – with scorpions. After that day, the scarred boy, who was certainly deranged beyond measure, had been convinced they were brothers at heart, a sentiment that Hiccup did not at all reciprocate. "Fancy you being here! How are you?"

Hiccup managed a deadpan, only for it to break as another shot of pain ran up him. Hiccup gritted his teeth as he tried to keep his eyes on his attacker.

"Eh, you don't need to answer." The gangster shrugged with a crooked grin. "I'm not really here for you anyway."

"HICCUP!" He could feel giant steps thundering towards the doorway. His father must have heard the shots and his scream.

The pieces fell into place. His father. The police commissioner, who had arranged for the Red Death and the rest of his gang to be placed behind bars. Who had left Dagur the sole free man of his kindred.

Ignoring the pulsing heat attacking his lower limb, Hiccup leapt forward, hand stretched out to wrest the revolver from his assailant. He was not going to let anything happen to his father. Not on his watch.

Then he felt the barrel of the gun exploded, and before he knew it, blood was bursting out of his back. He felt himself being kicked backwards, and he flopped, bloodied hand unable to catch himself from falling through the apartment doorway. He slipped on the blood spilling from his leg, tripping backwards and landed on the glass coffee table with a crash.

Crystal fragments flew up in the air and showered over him, but the little cuts he earned for did not compare to the hole that went straight through his torso. He struggled to breathe, for even slightest movement of his chest hurt. He barely noticed the wound on his leg anymore as he stared hazily at the ceiling. He heard his father's voice, anguished and horrified. He heard more gunshots, grunts of pain and mad cackling. He saw the world swimming before his eyes and felt his body shaking with cold, before he finally closed his eyes and just sank back into the glass.

The last thought in his head questioned if gods were allowed to bleed.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Well, this turned up to be quite a Hiccup-centric chapter. Don't worry. Everyone's having their own minor arch here, so we'll be taking turns to see all of them.**

 **The Sugar Rush Stadium is based on the game world of Sugar Rush in the movie** _ **Wreck-it Ralph**_ **(which is one of my favorite Disney movies ever. I keep saying this). Since it's supposed be a sort-of Japanese race-cart game, it made sense to drag it into this very sort-of Japanese world. I haven't decided if I want King Candy in the main villains lists yet, so for now, most things Sugar Rush are purely for world-building. That said, keep on eye on Vanellope (her first appearance was actually in Chapter 4, which you'd probably have forgotten by now).**

 **I have nothing against AKB48, which is by the way really a hundred and thirty (and counting) Japanese girl 'band' that started out with forty-eight members (hence part of the name). I'm not really into their music, but they did sing the super-catchy theme song for Sugar Rush in the movie which I enjoy, so I threw a reference there.**

 **Oh, yeah, Flynn's there too. Wonder what he's doing here.**

 **No one escapes the threats of 13 (and revealing Hiro's secret identity? Shame on you.)**

 **Here's a tip – when I start with a date when entering a new POV, it's probably a flashback. The 'present time' of this story is supposed to be sort of in 2015. Really, really sort of.**

 **Dagur the Deranged is one of the antagonists from the television series of How to Train Your Dragon, introduced from the first season and has stayed up till present seasons (though antagonist has been slowly altering). I'm basing this version of his on the first two Cartoon Net work seasons, where he's most the crazy deranged teenage chief of the Berserker tribe who spends most of time plotting how to kill Toothless and where his skull for helmet, make Hiccup kiss his boots and burn Berk to Hel. He was my favorite character in the series that wasn't from the movies – till the Race to The Edge seasons came out. Don't worry too much about him if you're not enough a Httyd to watch the series – he won't be here for long.**

 **The shooting part in Hiccup's flashback is based on the attack on Barbara Gordon (Batgirl I in DC-verse) in her dad's apartment by the Joker in iconic Batman graphic novel, The Killing Joker, before her dad, the police commissioner, is dragged off by the Clown Prince of Crime. There's a direct-to-DVD movie's coming out soon, so I'm looking forward to checking it. Batgirl is my favorite comic hero after all.**

 **Oh, and like Batgirl, Hiccup won't leave this incident uncrippled.**

 **Up next: Hiccup's hunt continues. Flynn might be explained. And where are Jack and Rapunzel? (Hopefully, I could cover all this in less than 10,000 words. Nah, not gonna happen.)**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Life's good. I'm starting school soon, so updates may not be so regular anymore.**

 **Mailbox for Guests:**

 **Guest (Jul 13): Wow… you are good at guessing. I kinda hate you (nah, I don't.) But I'm really glad that you're enjoying this story! And keep on guessing! Muhahaha!**

 **Emma (Jul 16): I'm glad to hear your story Emma! It's not easy to remember God's goodness in troubled times, but keep his word close to your heart and invite him into your everyday, and he makes it good. As for the identity of 13, I just love messing with you guys, so much that when who he is comes flashing like a red light, no one will know! Muhahaha!**

 **There's a wicked streak running through me. I feel like cackling incessantly. That, or maybe I'm unwell. Well. Who cares?**

 **See you folks sometime!**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	18. Chpt 17: Shots in the Dark

Chapter 17: Shots in the Dark

* * *

It was eight o'clock at night when a boy on a bike skidded down Furui-O Street. He had ridden it straight from his side of town despite the huge distance because he hadn't wanted to take the train. Too many Yakuza folk around the station, you see, and he couldn't afford to be recognized. Moreover, he had a long staff strapped to his back, and he didn't want any of the senior members asking questions about it.

After pedaling past several neon lit signs and shops that were in the process of closing up, he pedaled across over a wooden bridge towards the double-storied building on the other side.

Here, there was a series of shophouses that had all been closed down. There had once been a train station here to bring in the traffic, but it had been damaged beyond repair thanks to a gang war around the area. All parties in that battle had been exterminated by the Nightmare Yakuza and since then, the area had become much quieter. Business was too slow to keep the full stretch of the central running, so all the shops had moved upstreet, leaving this area mostly deserted.

Jamie hit the brakes and descended from the bike, careful not to hit his staff against the wheels. He still had a long journey to cycle back, so damaging his ride would be horribly inconvenient now. He circled himself around the back of the shops, pulling his bike along with him. There, he was greeted by a line of doors, each leading into the matching shop. He approached the second door in the sequence, leaning his bike against the wall as he ascended the steps. He rapped the door seven times in succession according to a particular rhythm.

There was silence at first, so he prepared to repeat it until he heard shuffling on the other side. He knew that the person beyond the door was climbing himself or herself up onto a chair to look through the peephole. He then heard a hiss through the door, "Password."

"Maverick," Jamie whispered back.

He heard more shuffling from behind the door, followed by louder 'thuds' as the bolts were pulled out of position. Jamie jumped off the steps, grabbing his bike and rolling it up the steps. Once the door was pulled completely open, he pushed it into the hallway, where the other bikes and one skateboard had been dropped off.

"You're late." the girl with short red hair chided at him, closing the door and putting the bolts back in place and locking the door one final time with a key. "Everyone's already here. Claude and Caleb finished all the cupcakes, Cupcake finished all the chips and Monty had a minor panic attack." The stool that she had used was set back against the drawer and the key was hung on the hook over it. She then noticed the large staff Jamie had strapped to his back. "What's that?"

"I'll show everyone later," the boy promised, removing his backpack from the basket on his bike. "C'mon, Pippa."

Both children ascended the stairs adjacent to the hall way, skipping steps along the way. The upper-story of the shop house was still in remarkably good condition and the floor was mostly clear off trash, thanks to the strict cleaning regime that Pippa had enforced. A new foot rug had been added after the last of the steps, which by the girl's own demonstration was meant for scrapping the dirt of their shoes. After Jamie managed to get most of the mud off his soles, both of them crossed the mid-section of the corridor to the only closed door on the landing. Pippa rapped her fist against the wood in the same rhythm that Jamie had earlier on.

There was a call from the inside. "Password?"

"Three-ply tissue paper," Pippa answered. Jamie cringed inwardly as she said it. It had been Monty's turn to choose the second password for the week and he had chosen the object that he had been blowing his nose with at that time.

The door was unlocked and opened. Claude was there to greet them and when he spotted Jamie, he exclaimed, "Finally! We thought you'd never reach here."

"You're lucky our parents went to bed early," Claude's twin brother, Caleb, called out as the two entered. "We'd never stay out this long otherwise."

"Sorry, guys," Jamie apologized to the group bashfully as he unstrapped the staff from his back, setting it against the wall.

Everyone else was already seated in the circle. Caleb and Claude sat next to each other on a wooden crate, with an empty cupcake box by their feet as evidence of their boredom-induced gluttony. Next to them was Monty on his blue chair, which was wrapped in several layers of duct tape. This was because the boy had insisted the piece of furniture would fall apart otherwise and his friends, after teasing him a little, had left it at that. Cupcake was seated on slightly larger chair than others, and it was colored a light a pink. The large girl in the tutu was hugging one of the cushions that they had placed around, not looking particularly happy about having to wait. Finally, Pippa, with her red hair tucked under her white cap, was sitting upright on another box. Jamie recalled that when they first established the clubhouse, she had a tussle with Cupcake for the pink chair. Eventually, the rest of the group had given the desired seat to the bigger girl, fearing that she would lose her temper otherwise. Pippa had been inconsolable for weeks, but eventually got over it after Cupcake shared with her some unicorn stickers.

Despite the occasional conflict, the team stuck together and on many nights, like this one, they would come together under the oath of secrecy.

"Everyone got their pins on?" Jamie asked, pulling his out from his backpack and putting it on as he sat down as his own seat – a bar stool that made him a little taller than the others. Those who had nodded, while those that hadn't rummaged through their pockets to find the desired cardboard objects and attached them to their shirts. Once everyone was ready, Pippa gave Jamie a nod. She was the secretary on the team. They weren't really sure what real secretaries did, but for them, it meant that she told everyone what to do and what to talk about.

"Okay." Jamie held his palms out to the two people sitting next to him, which was Pippa and Caleb. "Let's recite the Guardian Seeker's Society pledge."

All the children took the hands of one another – though Monty didn't seem too pleased with the stains on Claude's hand – and began to recite the pledge,

 _"Guardian keepers,_

 _Guardian seekers._

 _Children and youth,_

 _Unlock the truth._

 _Lights in Night,_

 _Good and Right._

 _Soldiers and Queens,_

 _Seeking the Unseen."_

All of them then separated their hands, and Monty was too glad to wipe his now dirty hand against his pants, making a disgusted sound while Claude just waved him off.

"Alright." Pippa tapped the steel legs of Jamie's stool with a pair of wooden chopsticks, and all eyes turned to her. She had her own eyes on her notebook, where she had the entire program planned for the night's meeting. "We've got a lot of things to do, and we've only got one hour to finish it all. First, we have a Hero Show-and-Tell, where we will all share about our favorite superheroes. We're going in alphabetical order, so Caleb goes first."

"Yes!" The boy in orange beanie punched a fist up in the air, while Monty, jostling his glasses, whined that that was just unfair.

Before Caleb could unfold the sheet of paper he was planning to show his peers, though, Jamie interrupted, "Sorry, Pippa, we need to hold the program. I've got something important to show you guys." He leapt the stool, picking up the staff from the ground and unwrapping the newspaper taped to it.

Caleb let out a groan. "Oh, c'mon, Jamie. Can't you wait your turn?"

"I promise it's important," the brunette boy answered, throwing the shred paper on the ground in his hurry. "Look!"

All the members of the Guardian Seekers Society gazed at the proffered staff in curiosity. The jagged lines that made the hook gave it a distinct appearance, making it immediately recognizable. All of them had watched the video that had gone viral just this morning.

"No way-"

"Is that-"

Pippa had whipped her phone up to compare. She was the only one out of the six fifth-graders to have gotten one by now. "It doesn't look exactly the same." She turned her phone around to show the screen to the others. "See? The video one's blue and this one's brown."

"I think the color changes when he's using it," Jamie defended the authenticity of his prize with ease, passing it down so that each one of his friends could hold it. There were plenty of _'oohs'_ and _'ahhs'_ all around as it went from hand to hand. Even Cupcake, who was usually bad-tempered about good many things, took great interest in the weapon, lifting it in an almost reverent manner before passing it to Pippa.

"Where did you get it, Jamie?" Claude asked, and his brother nodded too, agreeing with the question. Everyone in the circle was curious to know, leaning themselves forward and perking their ears up.

The boy took in a deep breath. "Alright, but you must swear that you'd never tell a soul."

"We swear," all of them chorused, solemnly crossing their hearts.

"Okay." Jamie's voice fell several decibels and the children around him dragged their seats forward slightly to hear him better. Clutching the staff between his palms, he told with a gleam in his eye, "I met Jack Frost. In person."

"You met the ice-vigilante guy?" the twins said simultaneously. They looked each other and said together once again, "Cool!"

"Did he rescue you?" Cupcake, who usually never spoke much in their meetings, asked eagerly. "What was it like?"

"He's a friend of my foster mum," Jamie explained, trying to speak over the volley of questions the other children sent his way. "He stayed in our house for a few days, then he left yesterday. Then that happened." He pointed at the muted video that was playing on Pippa's phone. "I didn't make the link till I saw the video today, and I also checked the book." He grabbed his backpack and unzipped it, pulling out a book. Everyone here was quite familiar with his volume of _The Complete Fan's Guide to The Guardians of Burgeshima_ , for he had it showed to them on one of their very first meetings, so they were surprised that there could be more in it that he could share with them.

Jamie flipped through the pages, before presenting the correct one to this peers. "Here."

Pippa took the book in her hands to read the passage herself. "Jamie," she said, a slight note of alarm in her voice, "he's under the villain section."

"That's a mistake," the boy answered quickly – perhaps to hide the hesitation in his manner. He snatched the book back from her. "You read the article, right? He joined them late. That's why he wasn't put under the hero side in the book."

"Do you think it's really him?" Monty asked with a sniff, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I mean, there are people who think that it's just someone dressed up like him."

"With ice powers?" Cupcake challenged, frowning severely at the small boy.

"Uh-uh-uh-" Monty adjusted his glasses nervously as he squirmed away from the girl"-people can build machines to make ice shoot from their hands, r-r-right?" He glanced anxiously at the twins for support. Caleb and Claude looked at one another before nodding.

"Guys,-" Jamie picked the stick and waved it at them, "-he's not some random cosplay guy! He's real! I met him! And I think he can help us."

"Help in what?" Pippa asked.

The brunette boy moved away from his stool, moving towards the chalkboard that the twins had donated to the place three weeks ago. He pulled it in the string that the board was hanging from and twisted it around, revealing what had been written on its other side. The other children's eyes all widened as what he intended to convey finally sunk in them.

"Jamie," Pippa put in first, breaking the shocked silence with a low, fearful tone. "You can't be serious."

"I'm absolutely serious," the boy told her, determined. Turning towards his friends, he said, "C'mon, guys. You know that this might be our only chance in taking down the Nightmare Yakuza. If anyone can do it, it'll be him."

"But he's just _one_ guy," protested Monty, doubt weighing on every single syllable he uttered.

"That's why he needs our help," the brunette leader of the humble society said, using the staff to tap the black board. His eyes were shining with excitement as he elaborated, "He hasn't been in the city for a long time, so he'll need the guidance we can give. We can show him our hideouts, help him watch the Yakuza's movements, get him Intel-"

"We're a bunch of kids. What can we do that others haven't done before?" That was thrown in by Cupcake, who appeared oddly subdued for her usual ferocity. The other children looked her way, then glanced down at themselves – small, young and helpless.

But Jamie refused to be dejected. "Well, we can try." Seeing that his peers were still unmoved, he added with greater passion, "Guys, we formed this club together because we believe in heroes."

"Actually, I kind of just joined this thing 'coz Caleb did," Claude muttered, but no one paid him any attention.

"We believe in what they stand for," Jamie went on, fist clenched in the air and bearing in a defiant expression. "We share their vision of a better world – a world where we don't get scolded for being kind,-" that made Pippa's head droop as she solemnly curled herself into a ball "-or where we don't get beaten for making a small mistake,-" Cupcake, big and bold, seemed to shrink at this statement while she wrapped her chubby arms around herself "- or where our gangsters don't sabotage our family business-" Caleb and Claude glanced grimly at one another, "-or where our favourite pets don't get taken away-" Monty let out a small sniff, "- or where our families aren't broken brutally apart." Jamie's own head was tilted down slightly, his face suddenly ashen. He swallowed, before continuing on, "Heroes can change all this, but they can't do it alone."

A lull fell between them all as the Guardian Seekers contemplated Jamie's speech. There was much fear and reluctance in their expression, but yet, none felt that refusing was the right thing to do.

Finally, Pippa said, "What can we do?"

"Well, first," the brunette lad said, while tapping the tip of the crooked staff against the floorboards, "we need to get this back to Jack Frost. Any ideas?"

* * *

This was definitely the worst day of his life.

No, wait. That day when he was whipped with a bamboo pole was a lot worse. After the whole thing, he wasn't sure which part disgusted him more – the blood or the broken flesh.

He had probably deserved it then, like how he deserved it now. He was quite skilled in accumulating self-inflicted afflictions. Yes. Ye. That sounded something like what Thia would tell him - before stabbing him in the back.

Flynn Rider didn't have very many friends, and even if he did, he wouldn't really call them friends. He was too proud for that.

Which was terrible pity, because after picking his phone up, he realized he didn't have anyone to call.

The meet up with von Schweetz at the Sugar Rush Race Track hadn't gone as planned. Even after emptying what he could of Thia's credit cards without getting his location traced, the amount wasn't enough. The kid wouldn't budge an inch. If he didn't know that she was the best identity broker in town, he'd never have done business with her. And even though he knew this to be a fact, he still hated having to ask a kid to do anything. It was just plain out humiliating when that kid had refused to cooperate. All the same, the fact remained that if he didn't get those papers, he'd be arrested the second he stepped out of Burgeshima. _If_ he ever got out of Burgeshima.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew how to listen in to the Yakuza's radio frequency. He knew that they were after him just because some fool got murdered in his apartment. Of course, blame it on the so-called 'only person who could ever bear a grudge against his fellow 'brothers''. Not that he wasn't glad that the dead person was dead. A hoodlum's death was nothing to weep excessively over.

Sometimes he wondered if anyone would care if he had passed away suddenly someday. Maybe a bullet through the chest or a knife to the neck. Or just a really boring car accident.

Probably not.

He parked the motorcycle behind the dustbin, knowing full well that it was hidden from view here. The forged key that he made for it was ripped from its position as he slid himself off, carefully as not to jostle the bandaged arm as he did. His shoes landed 'plop!' in a puddle that smelled suspiciously like urine and he scowled before stomping off down the dirt-ridden alley.

The location of his refuge was once a nursing home for the elderly and mentally unstable. It had been quarantined for a deadly disease that had infected the patients and was subsequently closed down. That had been decades ago though, and he rather doubted that any residue of the ailment remained and if it did, he had grown immune to it. As long as the skull signs on the doors and windows kept people out, it kept him alone. Away from the police. Away from pursuers. Away from debtors.

His occupancy of the building had been concentrated to one small room that he suspected to have once been a boiler. He shoved past the door, which was already breaking off its hinges, and settled himself back in the hovel that he had hidden in back in his days as a young thief on the run. Now, he was a post-tween hitman, still on the run.

The first thing he went for was the socket. His phone battery had killed itself earlier with all the bank accounts he had to hack into and some calls he had to make. Rummaging for his charger in his bag, he produced his charger and stabbed it into the wall. He then untwisted the wire hanging off the plug and connected it to the phone.

He shoved then clumsily shove his bag into one of the shelves, eyes falling onto the dozens of comics sitting there. He had collected them over the years. Not a single one had been paid for, of course.

He picked up one of the tattered volumes, pulling up the metal chair that had been strewn there and idly began pouring through the pages. He remembered that some years after the Anti-hero Act, some comic publishers got the rights to illustrate a paperback series about prominent Supers of the Golden Age. The government, which had initially banned such hero 'propaganda', decided eventually that taking these truly heroic men and women and shoving them into the two-dollar issues was the best way to relegate these incredible men and women to the realm where they belonged – fiction. A clever way of remembering past glories without surrendering current power.

His collection had a lot of Megamind, some Mr. Incredible and a select bunch of The Guardians. He had never really been a big fan of the Burgeshima's old hero squad - they were far too goody-goody for his taste - but he did enjoy reading about them through in the bright prints on the glossy paper. The stories were all fictional, of course, but any good story was. If he wanted reality, he'd just look at his life.

This particular issue dealt with the heroes fighting off the crazed villain who was known as the Monkey King, who was trying to turn the people of Burgeshima into monkeys so that he could rule over them. It was quirky, odd story arch filled with a good deal of child-targeted humor, but it was still a good laugh for him whenever he needed it. The issue was also one of the rare ones that mentioned that ice-powered alien guy. He was one of the recurring members on the hero roster, who never joined permanently because he had 'strained relations' with the others.

The brunette man who was obviously too old to be reading these scrunched his face up as he peered down at the illustrated blue figure shooting up on the pages, prepared to launch a blast of ice at a wave of flying monkeys raining above. In the comics, he had never looked very strong or powerful - in a matter of fact, Flynn bet that the real flying snow boy was much shorter than him – but there was an aura about him that bred mystery and interest.

He thought back to earlier this morning, after he had gone to the hospital to fix up his arm. He had seen the news report on television and he had scoffed. He didn't believe that this so-called hero who was supposedly a member of legendary hero team would want to return. And even if he did, the goody-goody Guardians did not belong to Burgeshima anymore. It was a plagued city, ridden with depravity and fear, hardened by disappointments and wrongings. Crime could only be fought with crime.

But the return of the fellow they called 'Jack Frost' – was he a sign of hope, or the harbinger of darker days? On one hand, people seemed to welcome the idea of him. On the other hand, the Super was one person the Yakuza was more intent on capturing than some lowly _kumi-in_ like himself.

The longer he eyed the illustration, the longer he wondered why the image of this boy struck him so. There was creeping sensation along the back of neck, egging him on think harder. Why was the picture, which had meant nothing to him before, catch his attention now? A boyish face, a hoodie, a staff and white hair.

Wait.

A staff and white hair.

White hair, which had been dyed brown by his own hands.

The pretty boy at Tooth's apartment.

"Crap." He ran a hand through his own hair, leaning back and gasping as he came to terms with the startling revelation. "Crap."

The person whom the _Kumicho_ was paying almost anything to find was a kid he had just met a day ago. And Thia – how on Earth would she know a Super? Did she know that the kid was a Super? Actually, scrap that. How the hell did she know him in the first place?

That was a question for another time though, for Flynn was now engrossed in formulating a new plan for his life.

He grabbed his bag off the shelf, rummaging through it. He found his pistol as well as a few magazines. It wasn't a lot, and but fortunately, he had been trained to shoot with both hands Flynn cocked the gun with his left hand, trying not to let the unfamiliarity of grasping it with this hand daunt him. He aimed it at the broken clock hanging near the roof and fired. The plastic device gained a hole through its number '3' as a crack echoed in the air. Not too bad. He still had to be careful though. The _Kumicho_ had been very specific that he wanted the alien boy alive.

He found the holster strap and fit it around his waist, pressing it against the wall as he buckled it with his only free hand. He then fit the weapon and the spare ammunition along its side. He then reached for the bag, which had toppled off the shelf due to his carelessness during his search. He picked it up by the rim with his good hand, letting some items fall out at the same time. Flynn groaned, throwing the bag back on the ground as he bent himself down to pick the fallen objects up.

As he stuffed the assortment of junk and tools back into his backpack, he found an unfamiliar cap. He also found a small lacquered case, just a little longer than his palm, that he was sure wasn't his. He placed on the ground, opening it just to take a look inside. All that it contained was a thin wooden brush, not unlike the calligraphy ones that one could find in a typical book shop, and a matching bottle of ink. The only strange thing about the ink was that it was red, not black. It also bore a label, taped around it hastily, with a scribble in English: _Don't write in red!_

He scrutinized at the two objects, before packing them quickly back into his bag. Maybe it belonged to one of the so-called 'brothers' whom he had used to share an apartment. He didn't really care.

He glanced around the dilapidated room one last time, from the peeling walls to the abandoned comic library. He hoped that he would never have to see it again.

As he reached for his phone at the charging point, it began vibrating. He scowled. He had been actively ignoring Tooth's calls all day, and that in itself had been eating up a lot of battery. He snatched the device from charging point, fully intending to dismiss the call once more, but the caller ID told him that the one on the other end was not one he was familiar. He hit the green icon on the screen and placed the device at his ear. "Hello?"

 _"Flynn!"_ The voice on the end was a familiar one. A warm welcoming voice on a dark day. _"You're still alive!"_

He let out a chuckle, drawling out in a laidback fashion, "Come, come now. Did you really think I wouldn't be?" It then struck him that the boy might have company. "Wait. Are you alone?"

 _"No, but don't worry-"_ Jamie was quick to give assurance after he heard Flynn suck in a tight breath _"-I'm just with friends. They can be trusted."_

"Right." Flynn tightened his lips together. He quite hoped Thia was not under this list of 'friends', but since he was not using her number, it was unlikely.

 _"Flynn,"_ the lad's voice buzzed excitedly through the ear piece, _"we've got a plan to save Burgeshima from The Nightmare Yakuza for once and for all!"_

"Save… Burgeshima." He did his best to hide the scepticism in his tone. The kid, though naïve, was well meaning. He didn't deserve to have his hopes crushed at this age – that'd be plenty of time for that after he'd grown up. "How do you plan to do that?"

 _"We're going to find Jack Frost and help him,"_ the boy told him enthusiastically. _"And he's going to save the day! But we need some help. Got any ideas how we can find him?"_

Flynn glanced down at the odds and ends that he kept around the place. His eyes fell on the comics and he thought back on what he had learnt from them. What's the thing usually called a hero out of his hiding place?

Compassion.

"I've got a few ideas," he finally answered, fingers unconsciously tapping on his holster.

* * *

Must and dust wafted towards his nose, sending an itchy sensation up his face. Jack waved a hand in front of him, coughing as he threaded carefully over the transparent shards. Behind him, his companion mimicked his action, using the cube of solid light she had created to shine her way.

Both of them were in an abandoned shopping mall. It had once been a stylish, elegant emporium with fancy glass walls and warm yellow lights. That was until the mobster who had owned it had been executed by the Nightmare Yakuza. As an added demonstration, the emporium had been bombed. Three years later, only the skeleton of the grand building was all that remained standing. Broken glass pieces from the displays littered the ground and blackened draperies were sprawled over them. Electrical lighting was non-existent, and the dead light bulbs hung off the rafters crookedly, threatening to fall over them any moment.

"Where are we going?" Of course his companion would be worried. Though she was the one in the super suit, she was out of her element here. It was a foreign city and she was a rookie hero, chasing shadows and hints she didn't understand. He didn't really get what was going on either, but at least this was his home. Well, his second home.

"Somewhere the Yakuza wouldn't know," he told her, slowing his pace as he reached a door labelled as 'emergency exit'. In the darkness, he squinted at the label harder. Exactly as he had read it – the words spelled 'emergency exit' fully in small letters. No capitals. That's how they checked it.

He pushed the door open and before him was revealed two flights of stairs, one leading up and the other down. He gestured for the girl to follow he descended down the steps, careful not to slip on debris that had accumulated there over the years.

Both of them climbed down to floors before he found the sign he needed. On one of the walls, a sign reading 'shops this way' was nailed. The arrow drawn below the panel however pointed to the wrong direction. He grinned.

"Um, why have we stopped?" Solaris asked. She still hadn't told him her real name and he decided that he wouldn't press her for it. It must have been embarrassing enough for that she had accidentally revealed that her mother was no less than the Matahari herself. The Photokinetic Hero of the Golden Age was certainly a difficult person to live up to and he didn't want to add to the stress. On the other hand, he really didn't have much of a secret identity to hide and since she was definitely not one of Pitch's lackeys, he had nothing to fear from her - besides the fact that she could create solid light. He wondered how that worked actually.

For now, he merely grinned in confidence before walking over to the emergency fire hose situated just under the sign. The glass case was already cracked so he smashed through it with his elbow, turning his head away to keep shards from flying in his face. Pulling off the rubber hoses from the rack and dropping them on the floor, he stuck his hand in and felt for a groove along the back of the case. He groped around a bit until he managed to lift the metallic flap, revealing the dusty keypad sitting underneath. The numbers on the buttons had long lost their glow, but he hoped that it didn't mean that the machine was non-functional.

Now, every one of them had been assigned their own private code according to their identities. North's was always Christmas - 1225. Bunnymund's was Easter - whatever date it had been assigned that year. Tooth's was on 'Tooth Fairy Day' – because literally such a day existed. Sandy's was based on some rotation of some moon around Uranus. And his?

0423\. April 23rd. His 'birthday", because he couldn't remember his real one.

After he had keyed in the number into the pad, a grinding sound was heard in front of them. One concrete panel had been seamlessly joined to the rest of the wall drew itself up to reveal a polished, glowing metallic door. He caught Solaris make a frightened _'eep!'_ at the unexpected sight, leaping away from it.

"It's alright," he assured her as he straightened his knees, approaching the door. He placed his palm against the metallic surface and watched as red-coloured patterns began appearing under it, circling about it and studying it. Finding the palm print was quite satisfactory, the red glows disappeared and he removed his hand. At that moment, the door parted and a tunnel behind it, lit by yellow lights from above, could now be seen.

When Jack turned to the girl, he noted that her mask in no way hid her astonishment. Her jaw was slack and her eyes were almost popping out of their sockets. A sad wave of nostalgia ran over him as he thought of the first time North showed him this place.

"C'mon." He jerked his head towards the tunnel, beckoning her to follow. He didn't need to ask twice, for the minute he ducked head down and slid himself through the entrance, she came stumbling hurriedly behind, eager to see more.

He had to give it North. The Russian-born hero had truly been a master engineer. Even after twenty years of neglect, the bulbs were still strong enough to illuminate their narrow path and the whirring above his head told him that the air vents were still functioning. Behind him, he heard a fizzle and crack as the door that had been lifted for them to enter was set back in place, so that any passerbys would not know of what lay hidden here. Not that anyone else was going to creep around a derelict shopping mall like them.

At the end of the tunnel lay another door – large, bulky, sealed and bolted. There was a keypad next to it, its surface tarnished over the years but still in working condition. Typing in the same code, the wall opened up to produce a cylindrical tube where he fit one eyes in. A burst of red later, the retinal scan was complete and the cylindrical scanner retracted itself back into the wall, replaced by a microphone. Clearly his throat a little, he said into it, "Jack Frost."

He heard the turning of gears and the whirring of machinery behind him, followed by a squeal of shock. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that a large automatic gun had emerged from the ceiling and now aimed itself to the girl dressed in pink, who it had detected as an intruder. The reptilian companion that the girl kept with her on her shoulder had turned itself white in alarm like his mistress.

Jack then turned back to the microphone and added hurriedly, "And guest."

There was a 'clink' and 'whirl' as the heavy armor weapon drew itself back into the ceiling and the tunnel resumed its unexcitable state. The girl's sigh of relief was amusingly audible.

The door before him parted itself, allowing them to enter the grand hall. His first steps onto the metal platform was met with a low hum. Lights flickered on with a grandiose 'boom', shining down from the rafters and immersing them in a warm blue glow.

He heard Solaris gasp, "Wow." Even though he had seen it before, he completely agreed with the sentiment.

When North had been tasked to build the first headquarters for The Guardians of Burgeshima, he had spent no expense in scale. Vast columns rose from the lowest floor all the way to its highest, with platform slotted over one another in alternating manner, giving the impression that they were floating in the air. Long mechanical tracks were ribbed all around the spherical hall, used once to run the little trains that carried items from one place to another rapidly. Computers lining the walls, blue-screen devices that were once ahead of their time, still gleamed with life as two of them passed them.

But perhaps the most prominent feature of the main atrium was the giant globe that suspended in the middle of the hall. North had it constructed such that it followed the exact rotation of the earth on it axis. Though it wasn't actually functional, it also wasn't merely ornamental a display. It was a reminder that though The Guardians were based in Burgeshima, they were also heroes for the rest of Ameripan and the World.

Old ideals for an older world.

"You're one of the Guardians." He swung around to find that the girl was pointing at him in a manner that was almost accusing. By how her hand was twitching and glowing, it seemed that she was in the process of forming a weapon in her hand.

Seeking to appease her, since he would much rather not to get bound up in her glowing yellow hair again, - "Oh, um-" he coughed in an embarrassed manner "-didn't I mention it?"

The blonde shook her head, frowning deeply. Her reptile friend, who had resumed its viridescent shade, also shook his head.

"Okay,-" he scratched his head, "-I am, um, was with the Guardians. Kinda joined late, but I was definitely one of them."

"So that's how you knew my mum," Solaris mused, looking at him with new eyes. She glanced him up and down. "You must be a lot older than you look."

"Thank you." He grimaced. "I think." He peered up through the atrium. "I'm sure there's a meeting room somewhere upstairs that we can sit down so that we can take a look at-" he waved vaguely at the bundle of magazines she had been lugging around. When he had first asked, she hadn't really been able to explain why she was carrying them "-whatever those are."

"Okay," she answered, still a little distracted by the novel sights.

They climbed the spiral stairs, though without haste. The blonde was still breathing in the enormity of the space – this space that had been once dedicated to nothing but superhero activity – and he was trying not to notice how so little of it had changed. The cracks in the wall where he had first fought with Bunnymund were still noticeable. The beams near the ceiling to where he used to hang off to scare the technical staff were still where they used to be. There was the secret cabinet where he had dumped all of the horrible cookies that North kept serving him. The only thing different now was how empty the complex was..

The meeting room they chose was definitely designed by the Sandman. The ground was tiled with yellow hexagons, each bearing the shape of a constellation. Maps of planetary movements were etched on one wall, and a mural depicting the births and death of stars were on another. After taking a moment to appreciate the aesthetics of the sights, Solaris, drew herself towards the table and began laying out the magazines in her arms, with her reptile friend helping her – somehow. She examined the numbers of each carefully and rearranged them out before turning them some pages in them. Jack watched her for a bit, wondering what she was doing, until he got distracted by the computer console in the centre of the table. He walked toward it, leaning forward as to place his palm against it. Almost instantly, a hexagonal screen appeared on the table, making the girl jump at its appearance.

 _"Good evening, Jack Frost,"_ words on the screen greeted him as an electronic buzz filled the room. _"I am Your Electronic Techno-based Intelligence, also known as YETI. How may I be of assistance?"_

"This was built in the eighties?" Sol was staring at the glowing interface from across the room. While a bit clunky, the graphics and the design was still quite admirable by today's standards.

"St. Nicholas was one of heck of an innovator." He noted that she had the magazines laid out in a row, spread open. "What have you got there?"

She shifted over so that he could stand by her side, seeing the red words that the magazines spelled out. She told he had found these pro-Yakuza issues in a room in the apartment of the murdered man – a room that had belonged to Flynn Rider, apparently – and found how they formed a sentence when arranged to a specific number sequence. She told him that she had been tracking the brunette man around the city, though for reasons she hadn't revealed. She told him in lieu of the San Fransokyo Tragedy, she was also trying to trace the whereabouts of 13. She then had shown him this magazine that talked about the dark vigilante of Burgeshima and his brutal methods of murder.

"The murderer of that gangster must be him," she said eagerly, pulling out this time a sketch pad from her satchel. Hurriedly flipping through the pages, she showed him a pencil sketch that was surprisingly realistic. He was startled realise that he recognised it, for it was the large black scrawlthat had been graffitied on the ground of the crime scene – which spelled out quite ominously _'HANG YOURSELF'_.

"Look at the style." The blonde pointed at her sketch, then to the bright letters screaming off the pages of the magazine. "I think they're written by the same person."

She was right. Though the words on the crime scene were significantly larger than those on the magazine, the angle of the strokes and the manner that the letters were positions were all very similar – not to mention the eeriness the messages all conveyed.

He gazed down at the words written formed by the magazine pages:

 _For the Great Stallion shall be u(Blank)ne by (Blank)wn Hor(Blank)oe._

"Stallions are … male horses, aren't they?" he checked with her. She nodded. "In that case, I'm guessing that 13's targeting the Nightmare Yakuza."

"The victim was definitely a member of the Yakuza," Solaris added, blanching a little when she said 'victim'. He had to remember that she was still a rookie – of course death still appalled her. "Maybe 13 murdered him because of that."

"Seems odd to pick off one specific guy when you hold a grudge against the whole gang," Jack pointed out, scrunching up his face he pondered. "Judging by the state of the apartment, the fellow wasn't even one of the top-end members." The boy ran a hand through his hair as he thought. "Maybe the victim was involved in something, or knew something, and 13 killed him because of that."

"Maybe something to do with the San Fransokyo tragedy," the girl put in.

"Or maybe something to do with wiping out the Nightmare Yakuza."

"Or maybe something to do with the San Fransokyo, which involves wiping out the Nightmare Yakuza."

Both of them stared at each other.

Finally, Jack said, "We're good at this."

The girl blinked a little, daring a small smile. "Really?"

"Yep." He grinned back, before returning his gaze to the words on the magazines. "I bet if we could fill the blanks, it'd give us a clue on what 13 has planned."

Solaris made a noise of assent. She lifted the sides of the magazines, examining the issue numbers. "We need issues #442, #443 and #444."

"444? Interesting choice for the last number," Jack noted with a hum. "Mind if I borrow your sketchpad?"

The blonde cocked her head at him as she handed over the requested item. "Why's the number interesting?"

"You know, because there are three '4s' stuck together," he explained, moving over to the interface. He lay the sketch of the _'HANG YOURSELF'_ scrawl flat against the hexagonal screen. He then found a button along the side of the table and held it. He heard a beeping sound from the screen, indicating that it was scanning the image in. "It's like three times the bad luck."

The girl seemed puzzled. "I thought 13's the unlucky number."

"Depends on which culture you're thinking of." Once the scan was done, he handed the sketch back to her. "In Italy, 13's a lucky number. In Japanese - which is the main spoken language for twenty percent of the population in Ameripan - " he made a face "- okay, the stats are probably inaccurate by now – '4' is pronounced as _'shi'_ , which sounds exactly as the word that means _'death'_. So '4' is the unlucky number. And 444? That's a triple whammy."

"Hmm." Solaris began pouring through her propaganda magazine again. "Well, they do say it's his M.O.'s to use bad luck signs." She shook her head as she read through the pages. "I think he does carry it a bit too far."

"Ditch the 'a bit'. Being a Super is not what it used to be." He felt on the side of the table for the drawer. Pulling it open, he drew out a corded keyboard and matching mouse, setting them on the table just under screen. When he noted the girl lifting a brow at them, he defended, "Hey. We didn't have Bluetooth."

He jabbed a few letters on the keyboard first, just to test that it was working, then began typing out his commands. He hit the enter button to submit it.

 _"Searching surveillance footage for similar images."_ YETI informed him pleasantly on the screen. Ages ago, the Guardians had set up an extensive network of cameras all around the city for crime fighting purposes. People in those days didn't fuss so much about privacy and it made their job a lot easier, so all was fine and dandy. He hoped that the system was still in working order.

He slipped into a chair by the table while waiting for the screen to load the data. Seeing that the blonde girl was still hovering around about uneasily, he tapped on the chair next to him.

Rather stiffly, Solaris pulled the chair out and sat herself down. Her reptilian friend crawled down her shoulder and onto the table, flopping itself rather comically down to rest on the flat surface. The girl on the other hand straightened herself up against the chair, gloved fingers laid delicately over her lap.

"So, tell me about yourself." Seeing that she wasn't about to initiate any conversation, he decided to do it himself. "Why 'Solaris'? Why be a hero? And definitely,-" he thumbed her costume "-why spandex?"

The girl's eyes glazed over at the barrage of questions. "Um..."

Taking pity on her, he tried one by one as an approach. "Let's start with why 'Solaris'."

"Oh." She swallowed, eyes dropping to the table. She was suddenly closed up, hunching herself over till she seemed rather small and frightened. "Um, I just like the sound of it."

He nodded, trying to encourage her to elaborate.

"Um..." she bit her lip, swaying herself side by side "I wanted to call myself _'Soleil'_ , because it means 'Sun' in French, and I have light powers so that made sense. But then one of the thugs I put in jail told me that it was the name of a circus." She glanced at him for confirmation of this fact.

Jack shrugged. "I wouldn't know if it is. Most of my information is outdated by twenty years."

"Right." She seemed slightly put off by the strangeness of his statement. "So I decide on _'Solaris',_ just to keep Sol in it." Resting her elbows on the table, she set her chin under her knuckles and sighed. "Then I found out that it was the name of a Russian science-fiction movie that dealt with themes of tragedy and grief."

Jack nodded, wondering if he should express pity or admiration at the choice. He settled on, "Oh, okay."

"What about you?" The girl was eager to change the topic. "Why're you Jack Frost?" Realizing that she might overstepped a line, she hastily added, "I mean, it's not your real name, is it?"

"Um, yes and no. I haven't used my secret identity for some time, so I instinctively think myself Jack Frost." He winced as he counted the years. He never realized how long ten years was. "Anyway, Jack Frost wasn't a name I chose – they gave it to me."

"Who?"

"The people who found my spaceship."

She was staring at him with huge eyes. It occurred to him that if she probably hadn't known who Jack Frost was before, there was no way she could know that.

So he added, "Oh, I'm an alien from outer space. Surprise."

She continued to stare at him.

He decided to fill the blanks in the conversation himself. "No, I'm not from Mars. At least, they're pretty sure I'm not from around here. More like, a 'galaxy far, far away."

She didn't get the reference, still staring.

"I still need oxygen to survive. I eat and drink too, but significantly less than a normal human." He pursed his lips as he pondered. "My metabolism's also really whacked."

Still staring.

"If you need to freak out, I don't judge. It's fine."

The girl just kept staring at him, mouth hanging open. YETI then informed him that the search was complete, so he ducked his head down to examine the results. Immediately, he could see that much of the feed was irrelevant. A lot of them showed him tattoo motifs, which, while bearing some similarity to the writing, was not what they were looking for. To narrow it down, he keyed into the computer _'crime'_. He waited it for it to load.

He was presented again with a fullisade of surveillance images, but this time they were significantly more gory. Many were from news footage and paper cuttings, of which the words were always hidden on the sides, quite unnoticed unless one was looking for it.

 _SHOOT_ _YOURSELF._

 _SLICE YOURSELF._

 _DROWN YOURSELF._

And an assortment of atrocities, with victims being slaughtered in the precise way that the graffitied words described. All the markings also seemed to bear blacking smears behind them. Whether those meant anything, Jack hadn't a clue.

The blonde girl was hunched over the table by his side, watching him scroll through the pictures. Suddenly, she grabbed his shoulder, jabbing her finger at one of the square boxes. "Look at that one."

Jack doubled-clicked the image to enlarge it and saw what she saw. The victim had suffered clear stab wounds. He was also missing his eyeballs.

He saw Sol lurch forward, clamping a hand over her mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

He glanced at her pale expression, eyes bulging and fingers trembling. Her little green friend had darted up to her, looking jittery and genuinely worried. Quite an expressive animal, Jack thought to himself.

"Bathroom's two platforms down." He pointed. "Loop around the globe after that and you'll pass the surveillance centre. Go down the blue corridor and four doors down on the left."

The girl fled so quickly with her pet that Jack wondered if she had indeed heard the instructions clearly. He supposed that if she really forgot the path, she would return and ask for clarifications.

He returned to examining the image, clicking on it once again to gain the details. The victim was a small-fry member of a well-known drug ring. The report which covered it mentioned that he was found to be in a possession of various drugs, including some which could not be identified by the police. It was postulated that the latter must have been new products formulated abroad, desired to be introduced into Ameripan's underground market of illegal substances. Jack peered closely at the photo, zooming in to the small words by the body which read quite succinctly _'STAB YOURSELF'_.

He then glanced over the rest of the article, only stopping when he came to a picture that displayed various plastic packets containing the aforementioned substances, including the unidentifiable ones. Amongst the yellowish white powders and clear solids, there was a packet of tiny black grains - grains that looked like sand. For some reason, this stirred a memory in his mind, one that he could not quite place, but he did know what he wanted to look for now.

He dragged the article over to his read list, intending to check it out again later. He then reset the search page, typing this time into the bar, _'Dead. Burgeshima. Missing eyeballs.'_

There were no results. He tried varying the last two words; missing eyes, missing retinals, empty sockets, no eyeballs. There were results for these, but nothing that struck him as relevant.

Until, an odd phrase came to him out of nowhere – _'orbital exenteration.'_ He had seen that once in a medical journal that he pretended to read. He typed it in.

There was only one result and even then it took him ages before he could locate where the word was on the article.

 _"Orbital exenteration,"_ the paragraph in question told him, _"has become mandatory for all deceased victims of the virulent epidemic that has hit Burgeshima. This act has become a point of controversy amongst certain families of the victims, who have hoped that their last act for their loved ones would be to leave their bodies in peace. In the name of the greater good, however, Mayor Lunanoff has made a plea for the denizens to cooperate with authorities in controlling to spread of what is being called 'The Black Plague'. Scientists are still continuing to study it to the best of their ability and it is hoped that a cure will soon be within sight. The outlook so far, however, is bleak."_

He checked the date of the article – 12th September, 1972. Still before the time the Guardians were founded. Way before the time he landed on Earth - which was rather odd, since the situation described in the article felt extremely familiar.

As if he had lived through it before.

In another life.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that it took him a while to realize that his companion had not yet returned. Had she gotten lost along the way? Jack drummed his fingers against the screen for a while, before deciding to go look for her. Maybe he had underestimated how large the complex was – after all, he had always gotten around by flying before, and Solaris didn't have that advantage as far as he knew.

Kicking himself off his chair, Jack left the meeting room to begin his hunt. It didn't take him long, because he found that he saw the iridescent spill of light reflecting off the side of the globe. He leapt off the stairs, landing perfectly on his feet at the bottom most floor before he moved off towards the surveillance centre.

The room in question looked like a giant beehive on the inside, shaped to have blunted cone for a roof and the circle base. North had tried to have every inch of it covered with screens, in which each screen would be showing footage from different surveillance cameras around the city. Every now and then, the footage played on the screen would be switched for another, showing a different part of the city. It was their old fashion way of covering as much space as possible. He was impressed to find that it was still running as well as ever, though everything was still fuzzy black and white.

The girl was standing stark still in the centre of the room, mesmerized by the flickering images. He moved forward to join her, keeping his steps audible so as not to frighten her with his entrance. However, she was so absorbed in what she was doing that she merely acknowledged his presence with a fleeting glance before raising her head back up.

"Neat place, huh?" he put in with a small smile.

Solaris didn't answer him, instead asking him, "Are you supposed to be carrying a staff with you?"

Jack was slightly surprised that she knew that. Hadn't they just met today? And she had shown no indication of knowing Jack Frost or his appearance prior to his explanation, in which he had not explained a staff. He wasn't sure if she even knew what his powers were.

"Well," he replied, voice laced with curiosity, "yes, I am supposed to be carrying a staff."

"Do you usually wear a hoodie too?"

Jack glanced down at the drab jacket he was donning over his formal shirt. His original clothes were all still confiscated with Tooth. He peered at her in a puzzled manner. "Yes."

"And you can make ice? I assume that where the 'Frost' in your name came from."

"How are you figuring all this out?" the boy asked, mystified. "I didn't tell you anything."

She pointed up at the screen.

Jack followed her finger, and his face darkened. "Oh."

~~~0~~~

 **S/N: Just to clarify, all the stuff in this chapter are happening more or less concurrently with the stuff happening from Chapter 14 to 16 (A.k.a Merida's abduction arch/Hiccup tracking 13). Ah, the consequences of having too many characters and too many storylines.**

 **I just wanted to write Jamie in a Secret Seven-esque sort of club** **with all the other ROTG kids** **, so ... that just happened.**

 **DON'T WRITE IN RED. I'm kidding. Or am I?**

 **The 'Guardian Headquarters' that Jack And Rapunzel (Solaris) find is sort of based on North's North Pole base in the movies, but move steampunkish mixed in with eighties elements. Note that Rapunzel has met Jack in her civilian identity before (Chapter 8) but he's still unaware of both sides of her identity.**

 **Yeah, I named Rapunzel Solaris before realizing that it was the name of a sci-fi seventies Soviet movie that dealt with themes of loss and tragedy.**

 **Up Next: It might have something last seven paragraphs. We might have a peek on Hiccup's progress in finding 13. Or perhaps 13's hunt on Hiccup. Or perhaps neither.**

* * *

 **A/N: Greetings, readers! As you can tell, this update was late. Sad to say, this will not be the last of erratic and late updates because ... guess who just got into law school? **Cue Drumroll** IT'S...**

 **...MY FRIEND!**

 **Oh, and me? I got into to something else. I didn't really want to study law.**

 **That said, my present course is extremely demanding on time, so I've been reexamining all my stories and deciding what I should prioritise in updating. Based on my personal interest and on viewer response, I mostly decide that I will focus on finishing up 'When Jack Frost Asks' since it's a relatively easy story to write and it will be quite short. I'll be continuing 'More Than A Bird' at the same time, though updating less frequently. 'The Guardian Games: The Wrath of Five' is kinda of on a pause at the moment (I refuse to call it hiatus - not yet), because I'm at a writer's block with that story. That said, I'll probably just write according to what I feel like writing so... I apologize in advance if I end up writing a megacrossover of Disney characters fighting in a world war two setting against the characters in Dreamworks in which the weapons are tissue boxes and toilet rolls.**

 **That was a joke. I'm not going to write that. I think.**

 **That said, out of a whim, I've started a sort of drabble series called 'The Nightmare King's daughter'. It acts a sort of prequel/companion to 'More Than A Bird', as a series of one-shots about Elsa and Pitch's relationship during her growing years before 'More Than A Bird'. There's only one drabble at the moment, but with all the new ideas knocking at my brain, it might grow soon. Of course, life still comes first.**

 **Guest Review Mailbox:**

 **Guest (1 Aug): Well, Rapunzel will around for a while – I hope. Yes, Hiccup will need saving...**

 **Reviews would be much appreciated and they do motivate me to write more quickly for a story. Otherwise I usually just write whatever feel like - which is strangely enough a Phantom of the Opera AU for Frozen, with Elsa as the Phantom. Hmmph.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	19. Chpt 18: Hell or High Water

Chapter 18: Hell or High Water

* * *

It was November the Twelfth, 2014. He had a bullet buried in his left tibia and six broken ribs. His father was still missing. The crazed kidnapper's location was also unknown.

He had stabilized after the operation and was allowed visitors. Some of them were his father's co-workers, people he didn't recognize and didn't really care about. Some of them were classmates who had never cared about his existence before and probably never would again. The only people that mattered were those who knew his secret, and even then, the first question that he posed them was still, "Has he-"

The answer would be a regretful shake of their heads. He would then sink himself back against the mattress and let out a shaky breath, careful not to move his injured ribs.

Healing only began to improve markedly after Gobber brought Gothi to the ward. While the hook-handed man distracted the medical staff, the old shaman lady had unwrapped the boy's wounds and checked them for herself. She had then produced a case of her own odd medicines – half of which seemed to resemble various animal parts – and layered some strange smelling paste over his wounds. The bandages were wrapped back up again, with the doctors no wiser, and the elder mute woman had hobbled out without announcement. Hiccup had no clue what was in the paste, or whether there was any scientific basis behind their application, but it certainly worked. In a day, he could breathe with greater ease. In three days, he could sit himself up against the hospital bed.

But still no sign of his father.

The police on the case had not managed to get so much as a sniff of where the ex-member of the Helheim's Gate was, and even less the location of their commissioner. His disappearance had struck a heavy blow on the morale of the police force and had added a boost to the confidence of criminals, if the soaring crime rate was anything to go by. Of course, the latter might have been in part due to the fact that Knight and Fury had mysteriously vanished from the night skies during this period of time. Had they finally gotten frustrated with the lack of gratitude they received from the city and left? Were they purposely leaving Berkazaki to the forces of evil so as to teach a lesson? Were they so selfish as to withhold help from the very man who had persecuted them?

The answers to all these were all 'no', of course, but the public didn't know that, because they didn't know that Knight had a hole in his leg and that Fury was still trapped in his furry body, quite incapable of flying or breathing fire.

Hiccup was watching television when he received his afternoon visitors. Fishlegs, as usual, brought over the homework but placed them all in the cupboard by his bed, where they would remain ignored. Astrid brought Toothless, whom she had kept hidden in her bag until they were safely alone in the hospital ward. Hygiene protocol demanded that pets shouldn't be permitted entrance, but no one understood how desperately he needed Toothless with him. As long as the Bombay cat was tucked safely under his arms, Hiccup didn't need to worry where his best friend was. It freed up his mind to worry about a lot of other things.

"Anything new?" he asked, raising the remote up to lower the volume of the television. Once Astrid set the cat down on the bed, it had immediately leapt over to him, snuggling itself against his side and hissing protectively. Hiccup ran a hand through Toothless' fur, trying to sooth the beast, and perhaps himself.

His two friends exchanged silence looks with one another, which told him the answer before they could say anything.

Hiccup's shoulder fell, brows creasing more than ever. He continued stroking the cat grimly.

"We have no clue where he is. There's no sign of him on public surveillance," Fishlegs reported uneasily, rubbing his chubby arm. "I've checked. He hasn't been at any of the old Helheim Gate hangouts."

"I've been asking around. He hasn't contacted any of the Red Death's allies," Astrid informed him briskly. Noting his sharp look at her, she said, "What? Someone has to do fieldwork when you're out. Those questions aren't going to answer themselves"

"You're not ready to be out on the field, yet," Hiccup told her shortly, drawing his hand away from a disappointed Toothless to fold his arm.

"Says you who couldn't throw a decent punch till I taught him how," the blonde scoffed in return.

"I survived well enough without punching decently for seven whole months," he retorted, his tone turning more nasally as he became indignant. Astrid merely shook her head at him.

"I hate to disagree with you, Hiccup," Fishlegs piped in, "but if we're going to move the investigation more quickly, we're going to need someone on the ground – someone who can move and work freely beyond legal limits." He sucked in a breath, then dropped the bomb. "We need _Knight_."

Hiccup turned to his portly friend and sighed. "You know how much I want to be out there." He glanced up towards the television, which was reporting an update on the kidnapping of Stoick Haddock – of which the update was that there was no update. The photograph of his father was shown on the screen while the news anchor mumbled the usual PR of 'police doing their best' and 'city offering prayers for the commissioner's recuperating son'.

He heard Fishlegs' clear his throat. "Um, I don't mean you."

Hiccup dropped his gaze from the television, transferring it to the other boy. "What?"

Before Fishlegs could stutter a reply, Astrid cut in, "He means me."

"No." He didn't even have to think about it. "I can't let you go up against Dagur alone."

"Why not?" the girl challenged, a brow shooting up.

Despite her ferocity, Hiccup didn't back down. "You're not ready for crime-fighting."

"I fight better than you," Astrid protested, braid swinging violently behind her as she leaned towards him. Toothless hissed at her as she approached, but she ignored him, knowing that the cat would never really hurt her. "What you mean I'm not ready?"

"You've never fought them like I have. You don't know what you're up against." It was a peculiar sight, watching a small, gangly boy with a plastered torso and an elevated bandaged leg facing off a larger, more muscular girl. In any other situation, the girl would have probably pummeled the boy into the ground. But here, it did not happen, for one, it was considered rather mean to hit a severely injured person, and two, Astrid wasn't the one in charge.

The blonde girl drew back, sullen and displeased. "You don't trust me."

Hiccup heaved a sigh, rubbing his temple. "Astrid, I do trust you."

"Oh?" she let out a scoff. "Then why haven't you taught me that spell thingy?"

Now that was really bizarre. "'Spell thingy'?"

"The words that transforms Toothless into a dragon," Astrid spat at him crossly. She waved at the chubby boy. "Even Fishlegs knows them!"

"In my defense," the computer geek put in meekly, "I'm actually fluent in Old Norse. I read it myself."

"The point is," the blonde went on as if the interruption hadn't occurred, "that I'm on your side, Hiccup. I want to help. I can help. Don't you want your dad back?"

He didn't answer at once, because part of him was tempted to let her go. After all, if anyone could look after herself, it would be Astrid. She was the toughest girl in school – no, the toughest in school. Period. She had been running marathons and hauling weights long before he had discovered his secret heritage. He had personally witnessed her taking down people twice her size. She was a good fighter.

She just wasn't a crime-fighter.

So he told her, "You're not going out there. End of story."

It didn't occur to him until much later that she had never agreed to his orders.

It was November the Fourteenth, 2014, when things finally changed.

No, there hadn't been a breakthrough in police investigation. There hadn't been progress on Team Dragon's side either.

Nope. November the Fourteenth, 2014, was the date that the last free member of Helheim's Gate uploaded a video on the Internet. It was a simple fifty second clip, filmed with a shaky hand and barely edited. No one really paid attention to that part, because it was the message that stayed glued in people's head.

 _"Come out, come out, wherever you are, Knight_!" Dagur's voice spurted in between the fizzes from the voice box, followed by one of his classic cackles. _"I'm leaving the address with the BZPD. Come alone with the dragon. If you don't, Commissioner Haddock-"_ the camera swerved around to show the hostage, bound in ropes, bloodied and unconscious, _"-might start suffering from a rather cruel and unusual illness involving holes. IN HIS SKULL! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"_

And then the clip was cut.

At the time the video was released, Hiccup was asleep, kept awake the night before by an itch buried under the swathes around his body. When he had awoken, he found several missed calls on his phone and a link to the video. When he finally called Fishlegs back, the chubby boy was frantic. _"She's gone, Hiccup."_

"Who?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

 _"Astrid."_ Fishlegs was breathing heavily into the mouthpiece as words tumbled out. _"She took the dragon armor, including the helmet."_

Hiccup cursed, then said, "Well, she couldn't have gone far on foot."

 _"She's not on foot. She took Toothless."_

"She took Tooth-" he repeated blankly, until the meaning sunk down into him. "But how did she know the -"

 _"It's my fault,"_ the plump boy blurted out. _"I'm sorry, Hiccup. She threatened to torch my dragon collectibles."_

Though he knew the boy couldn't see it, Hiccup still raised a brow. "Really, Fishlegs?"

 _"Those collectibles are very expensive!"_ Fishlegs protested.

"Nevermind." The auburn-haired boy grimaced as he considered this dilemma. "Allies?"

 _"Big Hero 6 is still fully occupied. Some villain of theirs had scattered bombs around their city and they can't spare a hand."_ Fishlegs' account was grave. _"_ _We're_ _on our own here."_

Hiccup swore again, clenching and unclenching his fist as he thought harder. In the back of his head, he already knew the solution. But judging by the burning sensation along his leg and the ache on his ribs, he knew it was going to hurt.

"Fishlegs," he said in a firm voice, "is Dragon Suit 2.0 ready for use?"

" _Ready for use?"_ There was a definite note of alarm in his friend's voice. _"I haven't even installed tracking software inside it! It's just a hollow shell, Hiccup."_

"But the cushioning element inside the armor – the stuff that's designed to reduce and control physical trauma – that's in-built, isn't it?" It wasn't developed completely himself, but modified from a design that Hiro, Captain of the BH6, had installed in his own armor to prevent injury. In Hiccup's case, prevention of injury was no longer an option, but hopefully the cushioning system would be able to contain the wounds long enough.

 _"Well, yeah,"_ Fishlegs confirmed reluctantly.

"Good." Hiccup slowly edged himself towards the side of the bed, wincing as he jolted his ribs. His bandaged leg also weighed him down, barely letting him move. But he remembered the words that Dagur had sung in the video and his blood boiled. He wasn't letting that madman hurt anymore of the people he cared about. "Cab down and get ready. You're helping me sneak out of this place."

* * *

Litwak's Arcade looked like it had been ripped right off the set off an eighties' high school television series, and at night, it looked like the set of a Halloween episode on an eighties' high school television series. The building was right in front a large empty parking lot, with faded boards sitting above it handing out enticing promises to the ones who streamed into its digital paradise.

The glass door at front was unlocked, oddly, since the sign hanging there read quite clearly 'closed'. The welcome mat below his booted feet spelled out 'Welcome' and he wondered if indeed the arcade had been waiting for him to pay a visit.

The doorway was far too small for the dragon to fit through, so Knight instructed him to wait on the roof and keep himself out of sight. Fury snorted in his usual reptilian way, as if to tell him that he was more than capable of stealth.

Keeping the door open behind him, Knight went down the wide aisle. Most of the arcade cabinets were still switched on, with their bright screen flashing previews and trying to lure players up. Since the light they emitted illuminated the room enough, Knight disabled the night vision function on his helmet visor before proceeding on.

After passing the colorful racing games as well as some older JAMMA ones, he found that he winded up at what seemed to be an office. Labelled _' Staff Only'_ , the hinges squeaked as he pushed himself in, finding himself in the expected tiny office. It was unlit and by what he could see, was empty save the sunken table and uncomfortable-looking chair slammed against it. Upon further examination and using the light attached to his wrist-guard, Knight found that there was another door at one corner of the room. A sign was nailed to it – _'Knock before Entering'_.

Wondering if this was at last the place he would find the one he was seeking, he pulled open the door.

He balked at what he saw. The doorway was sealed up by bricks. He pressed a hand against it to confirm this, and the rough texture under his gloves confirmed what he saw.

"'allo," a high-pitched voice suddenly piped up next to him.

Making a yelp of surprise, Knight leapt away from the speaker, one hand going to his belt in preparation to whip out a weapon while the other was raised as a defensive instinct. But the young girl just chuckled at him, both of her hands tucked comfortably in her turquoise sweater. She was standing on top of a stool and from it, reached to pull the light switch. In seconds, the office was flooded in a sickly yellow shade.

The child, who now looked much younger than twelve with her so near him, folded her arms and tilted her head at him, peering at his armor in amusement. "In case you missed the memo, Ultraman, Cosplay Night's next Friday."

Knight turned to see the poster that she was thumbing at and found the inky poster that described the mentioned event pinned to a corkboard by the table. Facing the girl who descended the stool, he said rather stiffly, "I'm not a cosplayer. I don't cosplay."

Not that he had anything against cosplaying, but, okay, he once had to stop a bunch of crazy teenagers who decided to break into shops because the characters they cosplayed were criminals. The costume had a way of getting into people's head sometimes. _Bad_ ways.

"Really?" This girl, who was about nearly half-his height, raised her brow at him and sniggered, jumping off the stool. "Can't think of many reasons why anyone would wear a bucket on their head."

Ignoring the snide comment, Knight decided to get straight the point. "You're Vanellope von Schweetz?"

"Depends on who's asking." She now climbed back onto the stool, sitting herself on it. The stool was much taller than herself, though, which left her legs dangling in the air.

He straightened himself up, arms set behind his back, wondering if he was out of his mind for even coming here. "Knight. From Knight and Fury of Berkazaki."

"You're that guy who rides a Dinosaur?" She kicked her legs against the lower rung on the stool, grinning at him like a Cheshire Cat. "Prehistoric much. Are you a caveman?"

"I don't ride a-" he lifted a hand to rub his temple, but realized that with the helmet on he couldn't, so he dropped his hand back down and decided to fix his attention on what he came here for. "I need your help."

"Hmm, well, I hope you know that I don't work for free," the one who was undoubtedly Vanellope von Schweetz – what a name! – said in a drawling tone.

Rolling his eyes behind the mask and still not quite believing that the subject of his interrogation was actually a ten-year, or less, old kid, Knight went on, "Where can I find 13?"

"13?" The girl scrunched her face up." What's that, like a club or street or somethin'?"

Trying to keep himself composed, he elaborated, "The vigilante. Killed a lot of criminals. Wear's black armor with 'XIII' scratched on it."

"Oh. _That_ 13," Vanellope said, slowly nodding her head and voice full of condescension. She tapped her chin with her index finger, then told him brightly, "No idea."

"That would be strange, because I managed to trace a phone call signal from him all the way back to you." He resisted the urge jab a finger at her. She was just a kid, after.

She was however a very irritating kid, and she laughed at him. "Well, strange – but nowhere as strange as your _footwear_." Vanellope pointed at his boots, making her eyes go wide. "Those are by far the most freakishly large shoes I've ever seen on a person."

The Hiccup behind the helmet was pursing his lips together, for she was really starting to get on his nerves. She reminded him of two of his classmates in school – an obnoxious pair of twins who enjoyed pushing his buttons to no end.

"Look," he put in a grating tone, taking a step forward with one of the huge boots she had just remarked on, "I've had a rather long night chasing down the wrong suspects and flying in circles, so can you please tell me what I want to-"

Then, a sharp ringing sound was heard, a high-pitched sound that clearly belonged to a corded phone. The part that had Knight dumbfounded when he realized that the ringing was coming from behind the _'Knock Before Entering'_. You know, the one with the _brick-sealed doorway_.

"Hold that thought, Bucket-boy." With a graceful bounce off the stool, the girl landed feet first on the ground. Skipping cheerfully towards the door, she rapped the wood with her fist, before pulling it open. Knight could barely believe his eyes as he found that the brick wall was gone, now revealing a doorway to another office room. While the first room was cluttered with items, this one was significantly vacant. All it had was a rickety rusted table sitting in the middle of it, and a 20th century candle stick telephone balanced on that table. The bell-shaped mouthpiece was dancing insanely on the holder as it continued to ring.

The girl marched up to the table purposefully, dragging her stool along. Knight followed, choosing the moment to examine the door frame. It was rotted and thin. How on earth could one fit the system needed for such coating technology in it to produce such a realistic barrier before? He ran a gloved hand alone the frame and frowned.

"Vanellope von Schweetz, forger extraordinaire," he heard the girl greet through the mouth piece. She had the ear piece cupped over her ear and the wire jiggled while she nodded. "Uh-huh, uh-huh, I see." She then held out to both components of the outdated telecommunication tool towards him. "For you."

The boy-super of Berkazaki peered suspiciously down at the offered device before taking it up, placing his ear against the metallic receiver and holding the mouthpiece up to where his voice filter was. "Hello?"

 _"I told you to get out of my city,"_ the voice that had sounded so earlier that day sounded mildly irritated. On one hand, Knight was felt a surge of satisfaction to have caused his rival some annoyance. On the other hand, 13 was only reacting with annoyance – not fear. That meant that wherever he was, and whoever this … Vanellope kid was, was not of great importance to the vigilante. Still a dead end then.

Knight didn't reveal any of his thoughts through the phone, only saying coolly, "You did."

 _"Well, clearly you don't take my warnings very seriously,"_ the vigilante on the other end sounded displeased.

"I'm merely following instructions. After all, you told me to leave after I've saved the Will-O-Wisp," Knight rebutted swiftly, not feeling the slightest regretful at taunting the harsh voice that he conversed with. "Well, I haven't saved her yet. It was Jinketsu who saved her, not me."

There was a short pause, filled with a crackling sound that Hiccup could only assume was 13 crunching something up and not the breaking of connection. Finally, he heard the steely hiss, _"You're one heck of an irritating twit, aren't you?"_

"You couldn't think of a better comeback," retorted Knight, who was grinning behind his mask.

 _"Shut up,"_ growled the vigilante on the other side, though it was certainly more peeved than actually furious. _"This is my city, so unless you want me to dislodge a train straight in central Berkazaki, get out. NOW,"_

Knight was quick to latch onto that. "Is that why you attacked San Fransokyo? Because someone interfered with things here and you didn't like it?"

 _"You never give up on asking all these questions, do you?"_ He could hear 13 groan through gritted teeth, with more scratching noises at the back. _"I am serious about threat, by the way."_

"Not seriously enough to meet me face to face and settle things," was his own rebuttal, crisp and cool. He glanced at the old telephone he held in his hands. He had no clue how this device worked, so he didn't know if he could trace the vigilante through it.

He heard the line go quiet, so quiet that he almost assumed that 13 had hung up on him. Then, like a bullet shattering glass in the silence – _"Fine. If you want to meet, let's do it. And I mean right now. No weapons, no tricks, no flying reptiles-"_ he slowed his pace down for emphasis _"-just you and me."_

His immediate reaction was suspicious. "How can I trust you'll keep your end?"

 _"You want to meet? You bear the risk."_

That was a fair point, though Knight didn't really want to admit it.

 _"I'll send you the address. Remember – no weapons, no reptiles. Face to face."_ And with that the line was cut.

Lowering the transmitter and setting the receiver down on the hook, Knight gave the antique phone a raised brow – not that it could be seen with his mask on. Turning around, he asked, "So, is there like a fax or computer where he's sending the-"

Vanellope von Schweetz was gone.

Puzzled, he walked a circle around the room, then stepped back out into the office, which too was void of strange little girls. He poked his head out back to the main arcade, where the machines continued to run their previews in silence. No sign of her either. He wondered if she could have run away.

Then he noticed that the screens of the machines started to flicker and one by one in succession, each blacked out. Just as suddenly, the lights of the office were switched off, and he was unable to turn it back on. He was in total darkness.

A power outage was nothing to panic about, so Knight merely activated the portable flashlight attached to his wrist-guard. He used it to make his way out of the office and through the aisles of the arcade. He ran the beam over the arcade cabinets, passing each of them and shining the light over the dead screens, noting idly his own reflection against the glass.

Then out of a sudden, the screens all around him burned to life at once, an unexpected chorus of red that made him jump back. All they bore against the black background were capitalized letters lined in a single sentence, burning red,

 _SUMIN HILL, EAST TOWER._

 _SUMIN HILL, EAST TOWER._

 _SUMIN HILL, EAST TOWER._

Over and over, as if they were trying to sear it into his head.

The words blinked at least ten times, before the screens turned black once more. Then, there was a _'thrrrrump!'_ and one by one, the screens were illuminated once morewith their respective game previews. Even the lights in the office had turned back on.

Not quite sure how to take these bizarre events, Knight decide that enough was enough. He dipped his head down, peering at the screen on his wrist. He began tapping a new set of orders before pressing his fingers against the side of his helmet. He watched his visor began to change its filters, informing him that his request was loading.

Once his programme alteration set in, he dialled the number and waited to be received. In a few minutes, it was finally picked up by a sleepy voice, _"I thought you said you were going on radio silence."_

"No point anymore. He knows where I am and that I've no intention of leaving," was his own brisk reply. "He's actually agreed to meet me."

 _"Oh,-"_ he heard Fishlegs let out a long yawn _"-like a 'meet-over-coffee' kind of 'meet' or 'only-one-leaves-alive' kind of 'meet'?"_

Knight winced. "Kind of the latter, but I'm hoping to do without the 'only one' part."

 _"Great."_ Fishlegs sighed heavily into the mouthpiece, letting out a fizz of static. _"So, how can I help?"_

"I don't think I've fought someone like this before, so we might to pick the Big Hero 6's case files for this one."

 _"What am I looking for?"_ He heard the other boy stifle another incoming yawn.

He eyed the arcade cabinets with distaste, thinking of the strange flickering before. "How to beat a Technopath."

* * *

Fire ate its way furiously through the walls, gleefully ramming its flaming teeth into the bricks and wood. The aged cement that glued the structure together was no match for the viciousness of the heat and the wooden ceiling overhead was more than willing to give in to the pull of gravity after the blaze tore through its beams.

Alone was the figure that darted through the raging flames, wrapped in a coat of ice and snow. He adjusted the scarf his mouth, careful not to shift the mask over his eyes, scrunching up his nose when he tasted soot on his tongue. It was unpleasant and bitter.

At that moment, the flooring below him suddenly gave way. Before he could fall all the way through though, he shot a blast of ice below him, pushing himself up and leaping toward the remains of the eighth storey floor that had yet to collapse, breaking the landing with a forward roll.

At that point, the hood revealed _her_ rather long blonde braid.

Elsa quickly scooped her hair back and yanked the hoodie over it. She wished that Jack Frost had adopted an easier disguise. A hoodie after all was quite unreliable in a job that required so much active movement. A full head helmet would have probably served her purposes better, but it would be more uncomfortable, she supposed.

 _"Tasukete!"_ She heard a call from beyond the crumbling walls. _"Tasukete kudasai!"_

Well, the world needed 'Jack Frost' once again. Well, a pseudo-Jack Frost. The staff that she had constructed earlier than night had already been melted into a puddle and she decided that she had no need for the weapon in her current task.

Jumping back to her feet, Elsa slid through the curtains of flame, avoiding the falling debris above her. This apartment building was one of the many along on the south-eastern parts of Burgeshima, where the population was relatively uneducated and poor. This flat was quite a typical residence in the area; dank, rundown and overpopulated. It had been a miracle that so many had been able to escape when the fire bell rang. Of course, not nearly enough had and after the flames consumed the whole building, the fire department gave up and focused on clearing the last few floors. She really had her work cut out for her.

She hadn't actually meant to wander into these parts. She hadn't meant to wander out of home at all tonight, actually. The Nightmare Yakuza was on high alert in seeking out the cryokinetic alien her father so hated and venturing in this garb out now was as good as suicide. Moreover, the folk at this part of town also happened to be of a highly traditionalist breed and were hence quite avid supporters of her father's right-wing regime. As she ferried the various old fellows out along with their grandchildren, she had prayed that it wouldn't occur to them to call upon the soldiers of Nightmare Yakuza to arrest her.

It would have been much wiser to stay in the **shiro** tonight, pour her emotions into the ivory keys of her piano, but she could not do so knowing her sister slept a mere six floors under her in the guest room her father had so graciously provided. No, unchecked emotion in the _shiro_ was far too dangerous to risk whilst Anna was there, so she went out into the city and did the only good thing that came out of her powers – heroics.

Well, at least her attempts of it.

The ground below her was shook, warning her of how soon its imminent collapse was. Sawdust showered from above. Heat burned against the ice on her skin. Frayed electrical cords dangled dangerously before her, so she coated them with ice before pushing on. She could not, however, cover the whole building in ice to snuff the flames, for the fire was far too hot. Besides, the last time she had lined a building entirely out of snow, it had not ended so well for the people inside it.

Her head turned frantically, trying to locate the sounds. There was a weak cough coming from somewhere – somewhere. _"Tasukete!"_ Cough again.

But she still couldn't pinpoint it. She hollered over the cackling fire, _"Doko ni imasu ka?"_

 _"Basurūmu de,"_ was the feeble answer.

There was a pile fallen debris jamming the door in front of her, so she took a step back, sucked in a breath and held her arms up straight. With a single thought, she formed a shield-like structure and battered it hard against the wood. One slam, two slams – on the third, the door snapped back with a crash. She climbed through the opening, quickly orientating herself in the fire mess that once was an apartment. The cracked television screen tipped on the carpet told her that here was the living room. Elsa tugged the scarf up higher on her face before she wove into the shaky corridor.

She searched after door for the bathroom, before she finally found one that was locked. Beyond it, she could soft sobs of fear.

 _"Ima ikimasu!"_ Elsa shouted hoarsely. It was then it occurred to her that she had done a bit too much speaking tonight, but perhaps in the panic of the situation, the one she sought to rescue would not notice the feminine tint that 'Jack Frost' had in his voice.

She drew herself back and examined the hinges. Stretching out her arms, she had frost curl and wrap the door up, focusing as she morphed the wood into fragile ice. Scrapping her feet against the dry wood panels of the floor, she charged towards the ice. Impact swung her body back slightly, sending stings up her arms, but the ice was splintered and that was enough to break her through the obstacle.

The bathroom was a constricted, crammed space of materials covered with dust falling from the rafters and the lone occupant was huddled in the tub. The middle-aged woman had a wet cloth pressed against her mouth and her eyes went wide with relief that she had been found at last. Elsa was about to reach a hand towards her when she realized that the tub the woman was sitting in was half-flooded – perhaps a futile attempt to fend away the flames. With her hands ungloved, she could freeze the woman to the tub instead and that would be a death sentence.

She quickly retracted her hand, beckoning the woman instead, _"Isoide kite."_

The woman nodded, lifting herself quivering from the tub and rising to her feet. With her mobile once again, Elsa led her charge through the fire, shooting out barrels of ice to clear their path. Occasionally, their path would suddenly be stopped by bricks falling in front of them or billows of fire bursting up out of nowhere. She heard the woman make a sob of despair, so she gritted her own teeth and twisted herself around, taking them down a new route. When they neared a window, Elsa shot a gush of wind against a weakened wall, making a hole into it. Stepping towards the edge, she examined how far below the ground was from their position. The drop was too steep, so if she created a slide and got the woman to use it, the acceleration of fall would kill her. Besides, with the heat this strong, she wouldn't be able to maintain the amount of ice needed for such a structure.

She then glanced across them to the apartment flat opposite. It was at safe enough a distance as not to catch the flames of the burning building.

Taking a deep breath, Elsa stirred within herself the feelings of confusion and guilt that had been weighing on her mind since this morning. She focused on the anger and the worry that had plagued her when she had seen her sister the night before.

And she unleashed it.

White sparks exploded, weaving into the air so rapidly that it almost seemed magical. Indeed, she heard the woman gasp in surprise. Crystalline beams manifested themselves into a crude curve, lining a narrow platform that could allow for the passage of one. Not aesthetically pleasing, perhaps, but it was good enough for her purposes.

She turned to the woman and directed her to the bridge. _"Soko!"_

The woman bowed to her gratefully, muttering a flurry of thanks before darting across the bridge. Once she made sure that woman had crossed safely, Elsa allowed herself to peer down to the crowd that had gathered below to watch the spectacle. Some had been those who had been evacuated earlier. Others were those whom she had help rescue, and no doubt they would have informed the others that they had spotted the mysterious 'Jack Frost' within the building. The last of those were the medics who had just arrived and the Yakuza _kumi-in_ who had come to monitor the situation. Undoubtedly, they were also here to capture her father's great foe, not knowing that it was just her in disguise. She would prefer to keep it that way.

She slunk herself away from the gap just in time to hear her ice bridge creak. The handles of the bridge spluttered as it began to melt, dissolved almost instantly into steam with the heat. The hinges and screws that made it began to slide against each other, turning into a watery mush before the entire structure just lost it hold and began to plummet downwards, landing on an empty driveway with an ear-splitting _splat!_

Elsa winced. She had best not use that method on the next person she helped. It was far too dangerous for anyone who happened to standing below.

She dove back into the flames to run one last check. The heat was rising high now and even the layers of ice she lined her skin with was no longer a protection. She could not stay in here much longer.

Yet as she scaled herself up to the tenth floor, she heard another call, this time in English – "Help!"

She cleared her throat, trying to deepen her voice but making it sound scratchy instead, "I'm coming!"

Elsa kept herself focus, forcing the burning sensation under her soles out of her mind. She locked away her fears as she tore herself through the smouldering, blurry world of red, trying not to choke on the smoke. She found before her another apartment and she shoved the door open, surprisingly without any resistance and she plunged herself in. "Hello?"

Then she heard an all too familiar 'click'. She heard, too, a familiar voice, "Don't m-"

Too late. Her leg had already curved back and snagged the assailant by his arm, forcefully twisting the weapon out of his hand. The gun fell to the ground with a clatter, and with the same foot, she kicked her opponent in the stomach, sending him flying back in the wall.

Panting, Elsa spun herself around to face her foe, and against the glow of flames outside the door, she was able to make out a familiar face. Before she could stop herself, the name slipped from her lips, "Flynn?"

The figure crumpled on the ground, cradling his bandaged arm gazed up at her with disbelief. The disguise must have thrown him off at first, but her voice must have given her away. "Elsa? Wait. I thought-" she could almost imagine the gears rolling in his head as he glanced down at her costume "-oh."

Knowing that there was no point hiding now, she pulled back her hood, revealing the white-gold braid dangling behind her, confirming his doubts despite the mask and scarf. "What are you doing here?" Questions came tumbling out of her mouth. "You don't live here."

"It wouldn't exactly be advised for me to return 'home' A.T.M. – if that's what you call that dump of an apartment." He winced as he pulled himself to his feet, clutching the wound that sent a surge of rebuking pity in her heart. He was always too good at getting himself in trouble, and she was not always there to get him out of it. "Besides, I'm the most wanted fellow in Burgeshima now. Well-" he looked at her pointedly "-the _second_ most wanted, apparently."

Elsa wanted to probe him further, but the ground quaking below her reminded her that now was not the time and place. "We better get out of here. After that, we're talking." She nodded meaningfully at the gun.

He sighed, silent acquiesce by how he grabbed the weapon from the ground and tucked it back on his holster.

Both of them ran abreast through the smoky corridor, with Flynn pulling his shirt up to cover his nose. With so much soot flying into her eyes, Elsa quickly constructed a pair of clear visors over her mask. It worked well for most part, by how she was able to lead them through a relatively safe path but the heat was fogging up the lens soon enough and she was starting to feel the searing heat running up her spine.

"If you did kill me, how were you planning to get out of here alive?" she shouted at her companion, who had managed to twist himself out of the way in time before the wall next to him gave way and tumbled.

"I wasn't planning to kill you," he scoffed indignantly. "I mean, I certainly wouldn't have killed you if I knew that it was-"

"You were setting up a trap here, so clearly you must have had an escape route in mind," Elsa cut in, ignoring his rebuttals. "Where is it?"

He glared at her. She was undaunted.

Eventually, he gave in. "Fine. But when you meet him, don't breathe a word on what has happened here. He's just a kid. He wouldn't-" there was perhaps the slightest hint of guilt in his expression "-he wouldn't understand."

Flynn led them down a narrow fire exit which she hadn't noticed before, and she realized that she hadn't because its entrance had been painted over. Flames had yet to consume the stairs they scrambled down, but deadly fumes had begun to fill it, along with the chunks of concrete raining above them. Elsa provided cover as much as she could by using ice to hold the structures up, but she discovered that the use of her powers was starting to weary her. It was a strange idea that her ability to produce ice could be limited by excessive physical exertion. She had been plenty capable of flooding halls with ice in her sleep before.

At last, this exit led them to a balcony on the sixth floor, which was still too high up for them to make a jump from. Elsa removed the half-melted glasses from the bridge of her nose and glanced at the building across the street – their safe haven. She could build a bridge to let them cross, but there were some people crowded below. Once the sides of bridge melted, it would collapse over them.

It was fortunate that Flynn already had another plan. Leaning over the rails along the parapet, he called, "Jamie! Throw it!"

In response, a stone came flying towards their direction and attached to it was a rope. With his good hand, the brunette man grabbed hold of the rope, twisting it around the forearm. He grinned at the blonde girl. "Care to share, your majesty?"

Rope! Of course!

Putting her hands together, Elsa concentrated. From the air, she drew a cord of ice, assembling the molecules with her mind and stretched them out in a single file, twirling the individual helixes together to form the twine. In no time, she had created a long cord of ice-rope and matching grappling hook.

Flynn rolled his eyes. "Of course. She can make her own getaway. Why not?"

The girl swung the hook over her head, letting it pick up speed before flinging it across balcony, watching the ice hook catch on the rail of the building on the other side. Flynn had already leap over the building and was swinging over to the other end. Pulling it taunt, she warily climbed up the parapet, let out a weighted exhale before stepping off.

She was unprepared for how hard the gravity pulled her down, and certainly not the sharp jerk on her bones. She had no idea how Flynn could possibly do this with one arm. Wind slapped her hard on the face and her braid fluttered back. Relief flooded her when she was flung forward into the open space that she had targeted – an empty floor on a multi-storey car park building, apparently. Once she deemed herself in a position to land, she thrusted herself forward and let go of her ice rope, forming a pile of snow on the ground just in time to cushion her landing.

"Great. Why couldn't you do that for me?" she heard a groan nearby. Pushing herself off the snow, Elsa found that her childhood friend rubbing his back with his good arm and glaring at her ruefully. While attempting to scrunch his face up, he let out a grunt. "I think my nose is broken."

"I'm sorry about that, though this is probably your own fault," she told him quite plainly as she rose to her feet. Walking over to him, she formed a small block of ice in her hand then held it out to him. Pulling a face at her, then wincing at the muscle that he had pulled, he took the ice block and put it on his nose, hissing as he did.

A kinder person would have perhaps given him a little longer to rest, but Elsa's curiosity could not be contained, especially when she felt that this was quite important. "I thought that with the Yakuza on your heels you'd try to leave the city."

"I am trying to leave," he insisted, sounding slightly nasally as he pressed the ice block against the bruise on his face. "I've been trying to for a while, actually, so that's nothing new."

She cocked her head to the side at this new piece of information, asking then, "Then why haven't you?"

He gave her a plaintive look.

"Money?" she guessed.

"I see why you're always top in your class," Flynn quipped, adjusting the ice block gingerly on his wound while trying to get himself back up to his feet. He noticed that his cast had shifted slightly in the tumble, so he edged it back to where he wanted it.

"It can't be that expensive to find a way out of town," she said despite herself. She usually hated admitting to know so much about the underground works of the city. "If you go beyond the borders of the Black Hole, I'm sure you'll find-"

"It's not the transport that's expensive," he scoffed. "I've actually got arrangements that would make it free, actually."

"Then what? Creating fake IDs? You said you've done that yourself before."

The protestation was heavy. "Hey, I have!"

"Then, why are you still here? Why are you risking your own skin to capture some phantasm that my father's obsessed about?"

Flynn looked away from her, as if hoping that by not meeting her gaze that he could ignore her question. Just when she readied herself to press him once more, he finally answered, "It's be very expensive to get a dermatologist out there, especially one that won't turn me over to the cops."

"A dermatologist?" Then it dawned on her. She glanced at him in surprise.

He just shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "If I leave the city, I intend to leave it all behind."

A youthful voice suddenly broke through the conversation, "Flynn!"

It was the first time then that Elsa noted the steps echoing in the car park, though they had been building up for a time. A small figure raced towards them - a boy with muddy brown hair - and she realized that this must have been the thief's accomplice all along. Of course, the boy have been standing on a higher floor in the car park as to be able to throw the rope to Flynn. His earlier spot must have been where he was running from.

There was a rare warmth in the man's face as the boy drew nearer to them. "Hey, kid. Thanks for the save." He ruffled the boy's hair, making him laugh. The child's chuckles however ceased when he saw her and in her mind, she kicked herself for not drawing her hood up. She wondered the mask and the scarf over her face would be enough to hide her identity.

Then the boy, whose name Flynn had called out – what was it? Jamie? – said to her "You're not Jack Frost."

She tugged self-consciously at her hoodie, then dropped her hand. With a sigh, she nodded.

He examined her curiously. It was then that she noticed he was carrying something with him – a long staff, with a crooked 'G' shape. The resemblance of this to the one she had seen in the blurred photos was astounding, though a sceptical part of her wondered if it was merely a copy.

Then Jamie inquired, "Are you his sister?"

The notion was so unexpected that she couldn't help but laugh at the thought of it. It was not an unfounded guess, she supposed, especially the pallor of her skin and the powers she possessed. But, no, certainly, she was not the sister of any 'Jack Frost', and she couldn't very well tell this boy about her own sister either.

"She's a just friend, Jamie," Flynn answered for her. "She's here to help."

Elsa smiled at the boy, until she realized that her smile was hidden behind the mask.

"Oh." The boy swallowed as he looked at her.

She tilted her head questioningly to Flynn, jerking her chin towards the young lad.

"He's my _kohai_. Sort of." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We kind'a share the same guardian."

Elsa nodded, trying not show the sympathy. One of the lost children that the Yakuza had adopted.

In the distance, she heard more steps echoing up the stairwell combined with the sharp swinging of doors and the loading of weapons.

"They probably saw us crossing," she said, grimacing. She pulled her hood back up, tucking her braid. She pulled the scarf off her mouth, for thing was foul with the stench of smoke. The mask however stayed over her eyes. "They've probably told the _kumi-in_ they saw 'Jack Frost' here." She glanced at the two of them. "You best make yourself scarce. You'll be in trouble for being out this late-" she directed that to the boy "-and, well-" she didn't really need to explain it for Flynn. She noted how the boy peered uneasily at the staff in his hands. It would be awkward for him indeed if he was found with it. "Perhaps I should take that."

Jamie raised his head to her in alarm, clutching the wooden item more tightly.

"I'll look after it for you. I promise," she assured him, holding her hand out.

"You can trust her," Flynn added, nodding. He was probably thinking along the same lines as her. "It's alright."

With a little hesitation, Jamie placed the rod in her hands. The minute she touched, she was surprised at how light it felt in her hands. It felt almost like carrying a straw, with a hollow space in its centre just waiting to be filled with … something.

"Okay, we'd better go." Flynn ushered the boy away, getting him to run to the exit away from the source of the pursuers. Before he darted off himself, Elsa grabbed his shoulder.

"Meet me after Mass tomorrow at the cathedral," she told him. "I'll see what I can help you with."

He merely glanced at her, searching for something she herself didn't know. Giving no answer, he swung around and ran off. She wondered if he would take her offer, but that she would worry about tomorrow. For now, she focused on getting herself out of here. She dashed past the parking lots and past the pillars, taking herself to the side rail of the building. Glancing over it and down, she found that the narrow alleyway below was suited for her purpose.

She constructed a long vertical pole of ice, stretching from the ground below to the parapet. She then ascended the palisade, formed a coating around her palms to protect them and grabbed the pole with both hands, hugging the staff under her arm. Jumping off, she slid herself all the way down, landing perfectly on her feet. From the car park above, she heard the shouting of threats. The witch hunt for Jack Frost was on and she had best steer clear of it.

With wooden staff in hand, she darted into the darkness of the streets, trying to navigate her way in the maze. She should head back to the _shiro_ now. The entire Yakuza would be on high alert for her now. She would have to find a place to hide the staff once she got there, but she would have to worry about that later.

Just as she was passing behind a road behind a theatre – closed at this unholy hour, thank goodness - she suddenly felt a sharp breeze slam into her, knocking her back. Tumbled on the gravel pavement, she gasped as she tried to orientate herself once more. She was aware that before her was a shifting silhouette, one that had seemed have landed in front of her, as silent as a ghost. The staff, which had slipped from her grip during the fall, seemed to twitch as the figure approach. As she pushed herself off the ground, she noted that the figure had bent itself over to retrieve the wooden object. She swung forward, intending to snatch the object which was supposed to be under her safe-keeping back when she got a good look at the figure himself.

His clothes were nothing much to look at – a rumpled shirt and equally rumpled pants. He was not particularly tall. Against herself, he might even be smaller. His form was thin and wiry, with arms so skinny that she thought she might snap them into two. Yet there was something about him that was both enticing and frightening. Perhaps the pallor of his skin that added to him a measure of ethereal unnaturalness. The windswept locks over his brows and the way he hunched his shoulders forwards granted him a feral quality, but the shine of his sapphire eyes suggested intelligence. There was an aura of mystery and grace about him that she could not place, but for some reason it reminded her of the fair statues that stood by the altars of the church, whose expressions were peaceful and wise.

If someone told her that he had truly been a creature who had descended from the heavens above, she would have believed them.

Both of them drew up back up straight, staring at one another. Both his wiry hands curled around the staff, pointing the crook at her. Both his eyes glittered a cautious blue.

"Who are you?"

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Again, random of Hiccup backstory - or is it really that random?**

 **I'm kidding. It's random. Sort of.**

 **Litwak's Arcade and Vanellope belong to Wreck-it Ralph. Whether Vanellope will be important remains to be seen.**

 **Oh, in case you forgot, Jinketsu is Hiro from Big Hero 6.**

 **All Japanese was copied of google translate. I'm not putting translations of them because I think you can guess more or less what they're trying to convey. If you speak Japanese and find these phrases inaccurate, feel free to provide with better versions.**

 **Up Next: Many confrontations, where Ice strikes Ice, Hero strikes Thief, and the Background men win.**

 **Too many spoilers.**

* * *

 **A/N: Wow, school has been piling me up. Still, it's manageable, just...not a lot of time for personal recreation activities like writing, but hey, it's not a bad life.**

 **Mailbox:**

 **Guest (Aug 19): Thank you for all your kind comments! Honestly, writing with this many POVs can be a huge pain, which is why this story seems to take forever to move on, but if I wrote all their stories separately (which I could), I think half the fun in this story would be missed. Planning is important though for multiple POV writing, but get ready to abandon your planning as your story goes along and just go with it. It's important to be able to keep your character's minds unique though, so that means re-reading what you wrote a lot, and also looking back at the original source material often. As for your theory, wow! It actually makes sense. I never thought of it that way before, so -wow!**

 **Thanks for the reviews! Have a good week y'all!**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	20. Chpt 19: I'm Just a Kid in a Funny Red S

Chapter 19: I'm Just a Kid in A Funny Red Sheet

* * *

He was amazed at how similar the costume was to his old one, from the shades of the hoodie down to the frost motifs on the leggings. There was a difference in build, though. The imposter was slightly taller than him – just _slightly_ , mind you – and he was certainly nowhere near as slender. Also, the imposter wore a mask covering the top-half of the face, rather than the bottom half as he had done back in his hero-ing days. But without himself as a comparison, the pretender certainly could pull the costume off. It was almost annoying, actually, that his own appearance could be so easily replicated.

Jack hadn't actually gotten a reply, so he asked again, lifting his staff a little higher, "Who are you?"

Solaris had volunteered to come with him, but he had requested to confront this masquerader on his own. The young heroine had agreed, but under the condition that she followed behind secretly, just in case things got ugly. Jack had no fear of such happening. There were few on the planet that could honestly overpower him. Few-ish. Most of the time.

"Well?" he barked at the hooded figure who had still not replied. "Don't you think I should get a reason on why you're parading around as me? I mean, you're probably breaking some copyright laws and stuff."

The blue eyes under the hood, surprising bright and clear, bore into him.

"Oh, yeah. I'm Jack Frost. The real Jack Frost. The hair's just-" he awkwardly ran a hand through the chocolate-colored locks "-my friend told me to dye it, okay? But enough about me." He jabbed the staff at the pretender. "Why are you doing this? Is someone paying you? Are you an escapee from an insane asylum?" He narrowed his brows together. "Are you this '13' person that I've been hearing so much about?"

The figure still made no response, standing as still as ever. If he hadn't seen him move earlier on, Jack might have guessed him to be a statue instead.

The boy sighed. "Look, Mister … Fake-Me, I'm guessing that you're probably some kid who stole a bunch of ice weapons or something and decided to go and wreak justice on a city this deep in crime. I get it, and this city needs it, but honestly couldn't you make up your own super identity?"

Though the face was half-covered, he could tell that the pretender was sending a quizzical expression his way.

Jack deadpanned, "If I got it wrong, you can correct me, you know."

The figure just stood silently before him.

"Can you talk?"

No answer, not even a blink.

"Can you not talk?"

Still no answer.

"Would you prefer it if I did sign language? I can do sign language."

Why didn't he just nod or something? Would it be that hard? Couldn't he move his head?

"Are you deaf?"

Once again, there was no reply. However, a blare of sirens was suddenly heard in the distance. Both he and the imposter swung their head in the direction that it had come from. Jack clenched his teeth together. The police were here. And in Burgeshima, where the police went, the Nightmares were close behind.

"Okay, so I gather that you heard that, you're not deaf. So, why can't-" then he realized that the imposter was no longer standing in front of him. Rather, he had taken advantage of the distraction to run off down the street. "Hey! Stop!"

The boy gave chase after the hooded figure, flailing his staff wildly as he did. The pretender apparently was quite fast. Combined with the knowledge he had of the streets, he managed to put a considerable distance between himself and his pursuer.

Unfortunately for him, Jack had a trick up his sleeve. Knowing that running would do him no favors, he struck his staff against the ground, stirring a whirl of wind to raise himself up into the air. Once he able to induce a suitable amount of lift, he swept himself over the buildings, hopping down the parapets and the window sills. He then landed right in front the fleeing pretender, making the hooded fellow scramble back in surprise.

"Hah, you can't do that can you?" Jack grinned, spinning his staff before the shocked imposter for flourish. Then his expression turned grave. "But really, I need some answers. Having people dressing up as you is seriously weird. Just think about it."

The eyes behind the hood narrowed at him and made a motion to shove past him.

"Oh, no. You're not running from this." The boy raised his staff to block the other's path.

Unfortunately, this move must have appeared as an offense move, for the impassive eyes suddenly glittered dangerously and Jack felt the hands grab his staff and fling him against the wall, landing him on a pile of empty cardboard boxes. A second later, his staff came flying towards him and struck him in the face, making him let out a distressed yelp. The imposter didn't even glance at him before running off.

"Hey!" The surge of annoyance knocking at the door of his mind came flooding in at that moment. "Now that's just rude."

Picking up his staff, he directed a gust into the direction of the escaping imposter, knocking him over. Jack quickly removed himself from the dump pile, making a disgusted sound as he noted that he had landed in a puddle of emptied alcohol. Oh, well, he supposed he had been in more unhygienic situations.

By the time he was back on his feet, his foe was too. The imposter had swung himself around and the blue eyes had seemed to harden. Jack noted that he had his arms stretched out and his palms glowed and – _whoa! Whoa!_

The counter ice blast was unexpected. Jack only just managed to avoid having himself flung to the end of the alley by flattening himself against the wall. In retaliation, he stabbed his staff in the wall behind him. A splatter of frost appeared on the concrete surface, creeping rapidly down the rest of the wall in a horizontal fashion. Fake-Jack (hey, let's call him that!) let out a rather high-pitched shriek as the frost inching towards him along the wall suddenly turned three-dimensional and stretched out from the flat surface, forming a claw-like vine that wrapped around his shoulders, trapping him. Jack made a whoop in victory, hopping up in the air towards his captive.

Well, he celebrated a bit too early, because the ice vine hadn't managed to snag both Fake-Jack's hands. The pretender in the hoodie lifted his hands up and a burst of light later, a shimmering crystalline katana grew in his palm. With frosted blade, he hacked himself off the ice chains with vicious strikes. He then twisted himself around and raised the katana up. Within a blink, the ice katana became a spear and with a twist of his arm, the spear flew up in the air and heading straight towards him.

Jack deflected the ice spear just in time with his own staff, whacking it off with a hard 'crack'. The shattered crystal pieces exploded in the air and showered over his face, veering off him flying course. By the time he recovered, his target had constructed new ice projectiles and sent it all his way. Gritting his teeth, the boy struck his staff towards the projectiles, forming a blast to divert sharp shards from himself. In his head, his thoughts were flitting about rapidly. If he wanted to stop the masquerader from fleeing, he needed to corner him. However, in terms of ice-powers, Fake-Jack was quite a match. Except for one thing…

…Fake-Jack couldn't fly.

"Okay." The boy took in a deep breath.

Instead of flying towards his opponent, Jack shot up higher into the sky, out of range for any more projectiles. Taking it that his assailant had given up, the pretender spun around and began darting down the road at full speed.

In reality, Jack was trying to get the lay of the land. As he rose with the winds, he noted that Fake-Jack was actually making his way towards an open canal that ran through the district. No doubt he was planning to make an escape via the sewers. With ice powers, it would be easy enough to freeze the refuse water and run over it, then block off the passage to keep any pursuers from following. Yes, his foe was clever.

There was one flaw with this plan though – the path that led the pretender to the canal was a straight and narrow one, flanked by two long stretches of concrete buildings with no gaps between them. All Jack needed to do was to block that opening off.

So, curling the staff in between his palms, he let the power flow through himself, through the wooden rod before manifesting itself as a bolt of energized water molecules, burning and crackling with white ferocity.

And he fired.

The burst of white and blue flew straight towards its mark, expanding in size as it did. Within seconds, it had rammed itself right in the gap between the two rows of buildings. He must have injected a bit too much power into it though, because that small spark of ice suddenly exploded into a crag of crystalline spikes, not just filling in the space of the path but piercing into the buildings adjacent into it, forming roots into the gravel below, making the Earth groan at the unexpected weight that had been thrust upon it. The force produced by the unwarranted change in the energy levels of phase of the suspended water molecules resulted in Fake-Jack, who was running towards that gap, to be flung backwards a good ten yards, skidding to a painful stop on the ground and gasping in agony. Not to mention, a stretch of frost now covered everything within half-a-mile radius from the epicentre and a light shower of snow had started pelting down.

The real Jack looked down at his mess and said, "Oh. Oops."

A sharp 'crack' in the air then exploded in the air and Jack felt his hand unexpectedly separated from his staff. Registering the burning sensation on his arm only came seconds after he noticed blood trickling down his sleeve.

And then he started to fall. "Oh, c'mon."

His powers weren't exactly dependent on his staff. He knew that he could technically form a blizzard with his bare hands if he wanted to. However, he knew that there was a stark difference between using a conduit to channel his powers and not using one. Studies that the Guardians had done on him back in the good old days clearly showed that in both cases, the amount of power he wielded was more or less the same, but using the staff just gave him a lot more control. Think of it as wiring a phone to an electric socket as opposed to hooking it to a lightning bolt to achieve the same aim. One of those choices was less deadly.

He groped against the air, against the winds that had died too suddenly. He pushed himself against gravity, groping for the staff spinning out of his reach. The ground was getting closer and closer by the second and his prospects for a safe landing was looking worse and worse.

"Well, what's new," he murmured sardonically to himself as he stretched his arm one last time. His finger managed to touch the side of the hook, making the staff spin faster, before he lost contact altogether. "Brilliant. Just brilliant."

He heard another 'crack' in the air, before feeling something rather hot buzzing past his cheek. He tried to twist himself around to see what it was when he collided with a washing line. This discovery was especially unpleasant when he discovered that particular washing line seem to have nothing but dirtiest of undergarments. "Gah! Really?" He grimaced as his face was smashed against a pungent pair of boxers. "Have the people living never heard of 'don't wash your dirty linen in-"

Then, one of his hands grabbed hold of the line and his fall was abruptly halted. He swung there for a bit, observing that his hooked staff had clattered itself quite unceremoniously on the ground four floors below him. He glanced left, then right, and then up at the dirty-linen-washing line that had become his lifeline and remarked to himself, "Nevermind."

And then the washing line snapped.

With an ungraceful 'oomphf', he found himself flopping through several more lines of soaked laundry like a rag doll yanked by a string and he braced himself for the impact when his back would collide with the cold, hard –

"Wha-OW!"

-person?

When he reopened his eyes, Jack found to his surprise that he had in a matter of fact not cracked his spine and that he had landed quite safely on a lump of flesh and bone. In other circumstances, this might have even been considered as comfortable.

He felt hard blow strike his back. "Get off me!"

He rubbed the new sore spot, removing himself from Fake-Jack, who was now sprawled on the ground and looking very cross. No doubt after he had barred her way, she had probably taken a 180 turn around, darting back down the road she had come from and find another way to the canal, only for him to drop onto her like an inconsiderate meteorite.

Wait. _She_?

It was quite unmistakable now that the blue hood had fallen back. The dark mask she bore only hid her eyes and her nose, not the delicate curl of her red lips and especially not the gold-white braid hanging behind her. From what he could see of her, she didn't look that old –perhaps in her twenties, or maybe even teens.

Jack gawked at her, dumbfounded.

She merely rose to her feet, looked at him in the eye before lifting the hood back over her head, as if nothing had happened. Then she said in voice that was very distinctly feminine,

"Where were you shot?"

His mind was still in a whirl, partly due to this startling revelation and partly due to how calmly she was acting amidst all this. "What?"

"You were shot just now. Where?" Her tone was brisk and emotionless, as if they were merely queuing at a counter and she was asking him to hasten his purchase.

"Um-" now that the adrenaline was draining out from his system, the searing sensation on his right hand was prominent. The wound was not really that large, just a long graze across the knuckle that ran down his ring finger. He was lucky that the bullet had not struck him somewhere more important "-here?"

She grabbed his hand, quite roughly actually, making him wince. He noted that her hands were actually rather warm compared to his own, or maybe that because his blood was dripping everywhere and he was going into shock soon. Fake-Jack dipped her – _her_ _!_ _She was actually a girl_ _!_ – head down and stared at the laceration for a moment, turning the palm around to examine it further.

He was starting to get a little impatient. "What, are you going to read my fortune or someth-"

Then the hands that held his suddenly started glowing blue.

The first conclusion that came to his mind was that she was trying to cauterise the wound, except by ice instead of fire, and he knew from personal experience that the pain was not worth the healing factor. So, being a sane person who wanted to conserve a pair of good working upper limbs, he tried to snatch his hand back. But her grip was firm and unrelenting.

It was only a tug or two later that he managed to free himself. At that time, he realized that he hadn't actually felt any pain. When he glanced down at his hand, he noted that there was a soft white fabric wrapped around the wounds. Touching it with his free hand told him what it was made of, even if appearance-wise it didn't seem to resemble it at all.

"This is … ice?" He rotated his hand carefully to study the newly-formed bandage, incredulous and amazed. In all his years, he had never been able to make something so delicate, and so … un-icy.

He peered up at the hooded impersonator, extremely perturbed now. "Seriously, _who are you?_ "

The azure eyes blinked at him and she parted her lips to answer, only for another 'crack' to fire in the air, this time further from where they were. Both their heads jerked upwards, eyeing the sky warily, before they faced one another once again.

"We need to get out of here," Fake-Jack told him with a hint of irritation. "No doubt your spectacle has drawn the Yakuza's attention." She angled her head accusingly at the large ice barricade that he had formed, sticking out like a cactus in a rose patch.

He could help but be a little miffed. "Look, if you just answered my questions and stop - _hey!_ "

"No time." She had grabbed him by the sleeve and was pulling him across the street. He had only managed to grab his staff before she had them both sprinting over the cobbled stones. In the distance, he heard wailing sirens and swerving vehicles. Perhaps she had a point.

Still, there were easier ways of doing things. He told her as she led them up a flight of steps that took them up a winding path, "I could fly us out of here."

"No. In the sky, we'll be too easy a target," she objected flatly, roughly yanking him up the last few steps, almost making him stumble forward. "They have snipers."

He snatched his arm away from her, frowning. "Not if I go into the clouds."

"There are no clouds."

"Yes, there-" a glance upwards made it quite evident that she was right, "-okay, fine, but it's not as if we'd do better on the ground."

"We could if we get into the sewers," Fake-Jack said while they sped around a street of restaurants, all packed up and closed after a long day of business. Jack noted with an inward cringe that there was frost layered over the glass fronts of the shops. Well, hopefully the morning sun would melt that off. "Of course, we would be able to reach that now if you hadn't blocked the path off."

"Hey, you were running away and I needed to catch you," the boy defended himself hotly. "Now, if you were a little more forthcoming with sharing about your-"

As they turned around one corner, Jack suddenly felt the girl grabbing him by the shirt and tugging him back. His yelps of surprise were however drowned out by the volley of bullets flying out of the metal barrels before raining down on the gravel. The firing ceased and hollers were heard, spoken quickly into communicators and amongst comrades.

"They're here," he heard the hooded girl hiss, balling her hands into fists as she did. She scanned the empty streets grimly, then pointed to an alley that ran in between to small eateries. "That way."

The two of them headed down the narrow path – so narrow, that they had to run in a single file. Unfortunately, that choice winded up leading them to a dead end, which happened to be a large concrete wall graffitied quite coincidentally, _'WE'RE ALL DEAD!_ '

"Encouraging," Jack noted wryly.

His rival-turned-companion however remained completely on task. Stamping a covered foot – ah! Mistake in costume. Jack Frost didn't wear shoes - on the ground and waving her hands, out rose from a shimmering ladder stretching to the zinc roof of the restaurant. She grabbed onto the closest rung to her and started her ascent. "Move, slowpoke."

Jack gazed critically at her construct, then back at the road where they had come from. Echoed splashes of feet on puddle told that the Yakuza soldiers would be here far too soon. "Yep. Time to move."

Hopping onto the lid of the huge garbage bin that had somehow been squeezed in the constricted space, he threw himself upwards and caught hold of a beam on the gable of one building with his staff and pressed his feet against the rounded pillar there. Swinging himself upwards, he tossed himself gracefully up in the air and landed on the window sill opposite, before thrusting himself up once more, zooming into the air and then landing silently on the roof without so much as a puff. Cockily, he leaned downwards to gaze down at the hooded figure, who was still climbing her ladder.

"Well," he said to her with a grin, "who's the slowpoke now, h-" and the air around him exploded with gunfire "-AHHHH!"

He dropped to his knees, pressing his fingers into zinc plating as to avoid tumbling off the slanted sides of the roof. Peeping over the central he noted that there were three – no, four gunman also standing on the roofs of the surrounding building, sub-machines rattling in their hands as they closed in on him, shouting indistinguishably into their mouthpieces. Jack leaned himself against the slope of the roof, covering his head with his arms when the solution struck him. It was so incredibly simple that he could help but laugh.

In his free hand, he blew and from his breath, a ball of snow was formed. With a mischievous chuckle, he waited for a gap in between the shower of bullets and swung himself up.

"Eat ice!" he hooted as he sent the first snowball sailing. That clump of ice smacked the first gunman straight in eyes and he fell back in shock. His comrades, taken aback by the counterattack and the form that it took, paused their assault. A foolish move.

In less than a blink, Jack had already produced his next snowball and he had sailing towards another armed gangster. This one only hit the guy in the shoulder, but the force was enough to make him lose his footing on the roof and soon he was rolling down the tiles, howling before dropping off the eaves. By then, Jack had formed his third one. He tossed it up in the air and with the straight end of his staff raised like a baseball bat, he struck the ball and sent it straight into face of another gunman, knocking him out cold (ha, get it? Because it's a snowball and … okay, never mind). Of course, he was having a bit too much fun and he didn't notice the fourth gunman had started firing until the bullets came zipping towards him.

He was prepared to drop back flat on the roof again, but the bullets froze in mid-air before they could strike him. It was almost beautiful how each deadly metallic cylinder was caught in the thin slab of crystal that had appeared in front of him, like butterflies pinned on a board.

He turned to the girl, who was balanced precariously by the edge of the roof, arms raised. Though the mask and hood obscured her eyes, he could see by the pursing of her lips that all her focus had been poured into that crystalline construct. He caught the down curl of the side of her lip and watched as she suddenly jerked her arm. The long translucent slab went shooting over the roofs. The gunman's howl of horror was barely heard as the chunk of ice hit him, before itself flying off the edge of roof. In the distance, a thunderous _'throom'_ resounded through the streets.

Jack glanced at the spot where the gunman had been, then down at himself which had been so close to getting shot. He heard a shallow panting of his companion and turned back in time to see her knees buckle. He leapt up, landing by her side and catching her before she fell over.

"You okay?" he asked, holding her in a manner that was exceptionally gentle. Yet, how could he not? She was heaving anxiously and trembling like a leaf. Doing such a deed of such precision and force must have been exhausting. It then occurred to him that despite the fact that she had borrowed his identity without permission, she had also just saved his life. "Oh, and thanks by the way. Really." Who was this girl really and what was she doing dressed up like him?

The girl in the hood however did not seem to have noticed what he had said, merely staring forward and saying in a stricken tone, "I think I killed him."

Jack creased his forehead, following her gaze, then peered back at her. The proud person that had snubbed and chided him, whose powers could do things he could never try, suddenly seeming incredibly vulnerable. In him, sympathy swelled. In a way, he was reminded of the other girl vigilante he had met earlier in the day. Solaris herself was clearly uncomfortable with the gore and violence her moonlight job entailed, and being so green in the field, he couldn't blame her. He wondered where the blonde girl was now. Hopefully, she would be smart enough to leave after seeing the gangsters closing on the district. Maybe he might meet her back at the Guardians HQ later.

But for now, he had to focus on getting himself and his imposter of a rescuer out of here, and that meant putting her mind to ease as quickly as possible. "It's not your fault. He would have killed us otherwise."

"It's still not right," she told him, removing his hands from her arms roughly though she was still shaking. "It's still a life."

"Well, he's a gangster from the Nightmare Yakuza," Jack pointed out, feeling slightly hurt at her rejection of his help. "That's clear-cut criminal. He's probably hurt and killed lots of people in his life time, and he'd have probably continue that if he lived."

"It doesn't mean he didn't deserve a chance to change."

"Well, I doubt he'd use a second chance to change for the better." In his experience, villains rarely turned over a new leaf the way they did in some stories. They were great plot devices, but hardly something people really did.

"Well, now that he's dead, we'll never know for certain." By the steel in her tone, he realized that there was nothing he could say to change her mind. He was starting to feel the similarities that he had thought were shared by both Solaris and herself were perhaps not quite accurate.

The noise coming from below reminded them that their pursuers on the ground were still hot on their heels. A glance down resulted in the gunman below sending scores of projectiles upwards while others started to climb the ladder that the cryokinetic girl had made. Both quickly made it over to the other side of roof when a shout from across the street caught their attention – there were other gangsters ascending the surrounding roofs.

"We're no longer safe up here," his companion said, the emotionless tone returning. The façade of calm had returned, but at least now he knew it was a façade.

"Well, I doubt we're going to be safer down there," was his response. Looking over the streets, he could see car-lights filling the streets, sirens wailing and heads bobbing in the distance. The ruckus stirred by the combined forces gangsters and the police was starting to awaken some of the slumbering residents in the neighborhood, if the yellow squares lighting up along the skyline were anything to go by. He turned back to her. "Where's the canal?"

"That way." She nodded eastward from their position. "About five blocks down."

"We should split up. That way their forces would be split too. We'll have a higher chance of losing them."

"But they're only going to be chasing Jack Frost." The girl gestured wryly at her costume – well, it was his costume actually, just that she copied it.

That actually gave the boy an idea. "Then how about we'll give them two Jacks to chase, hey?"

She blinked at him, not comprehending.

Jack darted a look at the other end of the roof where the gangsters would reach any moment. He raised his bandaged hand to her. "Look, if you can make a bandage out of ice, can you make me a costume out of ice?" He glanced at the roof edge again. "Like, well, _now_?"

Her only answer was to grab him by the sleeve and for a minute he thought she might punch him or hit him, or something painful, but then her hand started to glow.

Jack found himself rapidly engulfed in sparkling light, swirling rapidly around his form and he watched amazed as the tattered dress shirt was morphed in a thick, navy blue hoodie and the pants into his ragged leggings. As the hood was formed around his head, he found to discovered that they was also ice creeping up his face, fitting a mask around his eyes like how hers was. Wanting to correct her on the error, he said, "Actually, the mask is supposed to be like a scarf-thingy covering the lower half of the face, not a domino-"

She gave him a hard look.

"-you know what? It's not important." He waved his staff towards the spot where their attackers were approaching. "I'll take these fellows. You go."

"Okay," was her only answer and Jack raised his brow when he found that she had created a crooked staff for herself too, except that it was made of shimmering white ice instead of wood. So that was what she had been using in the video Tooth had showed him.

As she treaded carefully on the zinc tiles, prepared to leap over to the roof, he called out to her, "Hey, why not let's play a game?"

She twisted her head towards him, seeming puzzled.

"If you reach the canal first, I'll tell you my secret identity. If I reach first, you take off your mask."

The girl didn't reply at first, and for a moment he thought that she might be infuriated that he proposed such a thing in a serious situation. Then, he noted that the corner of her lip twisted upwards into a smile, and she said, "You don't even have a secret identity."

And with that, she had leapt from the roof and vanished into the dark.

Jack was left standing there, looking peeved. Under his breath, he grumbled, "I do too! Just, well-" he shrugged "-haven't used it for ten years." He then turned his sights towards the gangsters, who were climbing one by one up the eaves and prepared to attack. "Oh well, first things first: snow or storm?"

He rubbed his chin in thought just as the first of the Yakuza soldiers raised his gun at him.

"Oh, well. Storm it is. Wind!" He called out a breeze, waving his staff and grinning almost manically, "Time for a change in weather."

* * *

When she had said that she watch him from a distance, she had every intention of keeping her word. Solaris had sat herself down on the ledge of the theatre roof, watching as the scene unfolded before.

He had told her not to interfere, and she had promised not to, as long as he didn't get hurt. He then had made her promise to only come as at the very last resort. This was something he wanted to deal with alone, he had said. So she had agreed, albeit reluctantly, and she was a girl of her word. Even after the imposter had started running off and ice was fired back and forth by both parties, she still kept a distance. Her companion was still floating in the air. Despite the air projectiles that had been fired at him earlier, he was doing well enough to lace their surroundings with ice. She kept pace with them, but still not interfering. Her hand however continued to grip the golden hair falling behind her, prepared to wield it should it be necessary.

And then she heard a 'crack' in the air and she watched Jack's staff leave his hand. The boy started to fall.

"No!" Solaris stretched her hand out involuntarily, though she was much too far to be able to catch him at all. One part of her wanted to climb down at once to see if he was alright, but she knew by the time she reached him, he would have already hit the ground. She could only hope that he found some way to slow his descent before that.

Meanwhile, there was a shooter out there who had seen Jack, and he or she was clearly aiming for the boy.

Lifting herself up onto the parapet, she dimmed the light emitted from her hair so that she wouldn't be noticed. Sweeping her eyes over the terraces and the flats all around, she then noticed a shifting figure on the gazebo of an apartment building on the fourth floor. When she squinted, she could almost make out a shape of the weapon that was being reloaded.

Now, if she had better aim, she could have constructed a projectile from light waves and shot it at the attacker. However, for one, she didn't have very good aim at great distances. Two, her constructs had a tendency to collapse on themselves if she broke contact with them for more than a second. Hence, if she sent a ball of light the shooter's way, it would only explode halfway through the journey there, not hitting the target at all and giving her presence away. No, she had to sneak up to the attacker as quickly as possible and fight in close combat. Hopefully, he would only have a gun on him. She hated knives.

"Get ready, Pascal," she told the chameleon. Instantly, the creature scampered his way into the satchel she had hooked across her chest for safety, while she sucked in a breath and concentrated on her hair. Fragments of lights attached themselves to the ends hanging behind her back, lacing rapidly together to form the golden strands. When she deemed it was of sufficiently length, she grabbed the locks in her right hand and swung it over her head the way one would swing a lasso. Then she sprinted along the parapet, swinging the cord faster and faster. When her foot left the ground, her arm shot forwards, releasing the cord. The solid threads of lights, gleaming gold in the moonlight, sprung forward, catching onto a rail on the opposite building and tightened under her swift pull. Her own body soared over the streets into the sky, descending almost in slow motion as the cord in hand turned taunt and she swung down towards the gazebo. The figure – the man, she concluded as she got closer – had his arm rested on the palisade as he aimed his weapon and he was about to pull the trigger when he noted a shadow falling over him.

He swung his head in her direction and swore just as she her boots slammed straight into his chest. His gun had still gone off and she could only hope that she had managed to avert its path from Jack.

After the shooter went flying back from her kick, she herself tumbled forward onto the gazebo, so she quickly brought the hair in her hands close to her hip while forcing her body to roll forward to lessen the impact, breaking her fall without tangling herself in the gold cords. She managed to get onto her feet almost immediately after that and was in time to see the shooter, still lying on the ground, clamber for his weapon and aimed it at her.

With a shocked inhale, she hurriedly formed the first thing she could think of – a frying pan. Fortunately, it actually worked. The bullet ricocheted off the underside of the cooking utensil. But the gunman didn't give up, firing shot after shot as he picked himself off the ground, so she defended herself, twisting it up, down and around. It was then that his face was close enough to be illuminated by her pan.

"Flynn Rider," she gasped just managing to deflect another bullet at the same time.

He paused his attack for a second, pulling a confused expression. "What did you say?"

"You're Flynn Rider," she said a little louder this time as she yanked on her hand, pulling it free from where it had been hooked too. She adjusted the frying pan with her mind, making the handle thicker and base wider.

He cocked his head in wary manner, waving the barrel of his revolver at her. " _Annnd_ you knowing who I am is important because …?"

"I'll be arresting you," she told him shortly.

At her threat, he merely chuckled. "A girl like you in get-up like that?" He tsked as he scrutinized the spandex uniform. "You're hilarious."

"No, I'm serious," Solaris replied, adamant ignore his mockery. The entire merry chase that she had been running around Burgeshima for had all been due to this cocky, unrepentant scoundrel. She pointed the skillet at him. "You're a thief, a forger and a murder suspect. You cooperate and I might forgive the fact that you just tried to kill a superhero."

"Look, Blondie,-"

"It's _Solaris_."

 _"Gesundheit."_ He sniffed nonchalantly. "I have no idea what a girl like you thinks she's doing at this time of the night in a place like this in a suit like that, and honestly you're not the first kid tonight who's approached me with some crazy notion in their head. So if you just let that-" he eyed the golden cords with suspicion "-hair down and walk away,-" she heard a click as he cocked his gun "-I might not just place a bullet in between those pretty eyes of y-"

She lunged at him before he could finish, but that didn't mean that he was paying attention. Ducking from her in time, he angled the gun in his hand quickly at her and it was only in that close vicinity that she noticed the broken arm slung across his chest. It had not been there a few days ago. This handicap however did not slow him down.

"What the heck is wrong with you crazy outsiders and your nutty powers in the city?" He aimed the weapon towards her and began to fire once more.

As she had practiced so many times back in Korobe, Solaris dodged the projectiles well-timed spins, leaps and turns. Darting behind a pillar, she tossed a cord of hair out towards him while shielding herself. The golden locks flew forward and wrapped itself around the weapon of the thief. Just as he swore in shock, she ripped the gun out of his grip, sending it clattering across the gazebo, spinning out of his reach. Slipping back in front of the pillar, the girl in the purple-pink spandex stood arms akimbo before her foe in triumphant.

The expletives that came spilling from his mouths were pretty colorful.

Despite finding the vulgarities rather displeasing, Solaris smiled to herself, and prepared to offer up a generous deal, "Surrender, thief, and I might-"

And he leapt off the side of the landing.

She let out a scream of horror as she watched him jump to what was certain death, until she raced across the gazebo and gazed down that she realized that there was an open walkway on the third floor, with his shadow-bound figure darting across it. Letting out a low growl, she shrunk the hair strands behind her head before leaping off the ledge herself. Her target already was several feet ahead.

She tore down after him, cursing her heeled boots for not being more comfortable to run in. She seriously had to talk to Mother about designing a more practical costume – not that Mother would let her so much as sniff the topic the next time they met. No, Mother would probably have her grounded from hero work, and perhaps life itself, after the crazy stunts she pulled.

"Stop, you thief!" she shouted, feeling a strange feeling of déjà vu as she did. "Stop!" Obviously, her shouting did not stop him at all.

Extending a lock of her hand to form a cord about the size of a whip, she swished it forward towards the thief, but he managed to avoid it by veering a sharp right. When she lashed it out again the next time, he was made a turn around the corner, missing the tendril by a mere inch.

She followed him around, teeth clenched and increasing annoyed, only to have found that he had seemingly disappeared from the scene. She glanced down the path ahead of her, not comprehending how a mere criminal like him could have escaped at a dead end with no path leading elsewhere. It was as if he had just … vanished.

Then she heard wailing of sirens below.

Looking over the ledge, she found that there were police cars speeding on the road below, followed by a trail of black cars. All of them seemed to be heading to canal side of the city, where she had last seen Jack. Her heart sank. It seemed that the gangsters had discovered his presence here.

Suddenly, she felt herself behind yanked sharply back by her hair. Something cool pressing against a neck. "You move an inch and I'll slice from ear to ear. Don't even think of using your … glowy hair thingy. Whatever that is."

Solaris struggled, but he pressed the blade tighter and she gasped when she felt a hot sting run along her throat.

"You're that chick from the department store, aren't you?" His breath on the back of her neck made her shudder, and dread set in as she took in what he said. "I recognize your voice. You're the one who had the motorbike."

"The bike you stole," the blonde answered with angry defiance, though inwardly she was anxious. No criminal had ever gotten this close to her before. How on Earth had he hidden from her earlier? Everything had been in plain sight!

She heard laughter – a dry laugh that had no humor at all. "You foreign rich kids. So self-centred. I need it more than you do."

"Need?" Solaris struggled in his grip, but he shoved her against the parapet, pinning her between the metal bar and his own weight. "People like you don't take things just out of 'need'. Why on earth would anyone 'need' a motorbike?"

"You wouldn't get it," he hissed. She noted that there had been an added grimness in his tone.

"Try me."

She heard him snort behind her. "I don't actually need the bike itself, just the license plate."

Her brow arched instantly at that. "Are you serious?"

"Told'ya you wouldn't get it." That was his mocking snarl.

She scowled, not that he could see from this angle. "Then help me to understand. Let me help you."

There was a silence for a moment, just filled with the clamor of the Yakuza cars driving in. Then she heard him say, "You're hilarious."

"I mean it."

" 'Course you do, I have a knife at your throat." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "People don't go around helping random people."

"Well, I'm a hero. In case you don't know, that's what I do." The annoyance in her tone turned gentler. "Let me help. What have you got to lose?"

"What's in it for you?" He sounded suspicious, but she also sensed a measure of desperation and interest.

She bit her lip, then said, "Tell me how to find 13. That's all I want." She heard him snort again. "I know you know something about him. I saw the magazines in your apartment." That made him go quiet. "I'll help you with whatever you need – as long as it isn't something illegal, or harmful – and honestly, I think you might need it." She gazed out the scores of Yakuza gunman pouring out in the streets and something clicked in her mind. "By the looks of it, I don't think Jack Frost is the only person the Nightmare Yakuza's hunting."

Suddenly, she heard a chuckle, deep and metallic – something she hadn't expected from Flynn. Then she heard a grating, unfamiliar voice, mechanical and cool, "Well, first thing about finding 13, my good photokinetic friend, is that you _don't_ find 13."

Solaris felt herself roughly spun around till she was facing a metal mask, with the hollowed eyes she had only once seen in a magazine. There was no sign of Flynn Rider anywhere – if he had ever been there. Two metal-lined gloves grabbed hard her by the shoulders, making her gasp in pain. Her green eyes behind the pink mask went huge.

The figure seemed to smile at her response, though any expression whatsoever behind the mask actually impossible to tell. " _I_ find _you_."

And before she knew what was happening, she felt those strong arms shoving her back. As she flailed her arms, she found herself tipping over the parapet and her entire body falling backwards. The need for survival sprung every fibre of her body to life as forces of the earth pulled towards its face. She reached a hand towards of the building, but it was smooth, without anything to grip onto. Sucking in a tight breath, she focused on the hair pouring out behind her, breaking it out into the light fragments and reforming them into a cord in her hands. With all her might, she threw it up, praying to any gods who might listen that it would be able to hook onto a pipe or ledge above. When she felt it go catch on to something, she quickly tightened the cord and wrapped herself around it . Her fall jerked to a hasty stop around midway of one of the levels. Panting in relief, she gazed up back, only to realize in her horror that the masked vigilante was looking down at her, expression as usual unreadable. Shudders ran up her spine as she stared him and he stared at her.

And then he reached for her hair, scooped the locks into one palm while the other produced a knife. Before she could cry out, the blade met the strands and the hair made from tiny fragments of photons splintered into tiny yellow dots, turning from visible light back to invisible light, no longer tangible. The seventy feet of blonde hair disappeared, reducing her back into a brunette.

A brunette with nothing keeping her from suspended in the air.

Rapunzel screamed as she felt herself plummeting downwards once again, the world blurring into lines around her. Before she expected it though, her back hit smash into something with a crunch and her fall abruptly came to a halt once more.

When her head had stopped spinning, she had come to realize that she was sprawled onto a hedge. Other than her back feeling a little sore, a bruise on her calf from the landing and a scrap on her arm, she realized that she was relatively uninjured.

As she slowly gathered her bearings and lifted herself off the hedge, it struck her that she had been thrown off from the third floor, managed to slow her fall midway through the second and first floor, then fell the rest of the way till reaching the botanical display, which was now beyond doubt, ruined. Her life was never severely in danger, and the chance of devastating injury had always been unlikely with her skills. She had panicked over nothing.

Well, except that the masked vigilante had appeared out of nowhere and sliced up her hair. She grabbed a neck, where the cut was, and shuddered. It was lucky that it was just a superficial wound.

She had been so completely convinced that she had been interacting with the petty thief all that time! Unless ... Rider was actually 13?

It couldn't be. She dismissed that notion. She had rather doubted that a lowly gangster could have anything in common with a noble vigilante. Even if that vigilante was a brutal, bloody serial killer.

"You alright, Pascal?" she asked her chameleon.

Pascal made a motion of swallowing and nodded, his scales reverting to its iridescent shade.

"Okay." She placed him on her shoulder and looked up. She had to get back up there. "Hang on tight."

Running her gloved hands through her real hair, she scanned her surroundings. No one was around, thank goodness, and her screams had not been loud enough to attract attention. She took in a breath and concentrated. When she felt the light strands on her back growing again, she let out a breath that she hadn't realize she was holding.

After it had grown to long enough a length, Solaris had been restored and she was swung a cord upwards, hook onto the rails of an upper floor. She then formed a small loop with the excess length for herself to step onto. She then started to hoist herself up.

As she leapt over the parapet of the third floor, she was not surprised to find that there was no one there anymore. 13, or Flynn, or whoever that was, would have escaped by now. Nonetheless, she kept a cord within her grip, ready to strike down anything that showed itself threatening. She would not repeat her errors.

As she stepped forward, she felt something nudge against her boot. Creating a bauble of light in her hand to illuminate the ground better, she found that it seemed to a narrow wooden case. Must have been dropped by her opponent as he made off.

She laid Pascal onto the parapet. "Keep a look out."

The chameleon nodded with a grave expression, even making a small salute with its little scaly paws.

Solaris bent herself down and retrieve the case. When it didn't explode, she gently lifted its lid, craning her head forward at the same time to examine the contents. It contained a thin calligraphy brush and a bottle of ink. The latter had label on it. She made the bauble shine brighter so she could read the thin scribble: _Don't write in red!_

She tipped the bottle from side to side, then returned to the box and shut it. This would warrant further investigation. For now, she knew that her ally was out there, facing dozens of gangsters on his own, along with some crazy fellow impersonating him. She had best try to find him and get them out of here however she can. She slipped the writing set into her satchel.

"Let's go, Pascal." She scooped the reptile up and slipped him into the bag.

As she leapt off the parapet though, she could not help but feel as if she was being watched.

* * *

"Haha! That showed that girl that-"

Flynn paused as he suddenly got his bearings and realized that he was in an unfamiliar parking lot. Whipping around, glancing at one of the lots to the other, he puffed his cheeks out in thought.

Then he shrugged. Oh well. As long as he managed to get away, he didn't care.

Well, that's what he told himself as he slipped himself onto the motorcycle. In the back of his head, he couldn't help but feel like he was missing something. Something really important.

He kept the bandaged arm close to his torso and adjusted the sling on his shoulder before starting up the engine.

* * *

The streets flickered with the red and blue of police cars and flashlights. Heavy boots fell onto gravel and hasty commands were passed along as the men in suits strapped themselves with their firearms, prepared to attack at will. It was as if they had gone to war with the roads themselves.

Sadly for them, their attentions should have been turned to the spritely figure that had hopped deftly from gable to gable. He had managed to evade their forces after leading them through a merry chase. The snow shower over his head made him chuckle and he leapt from the telephone pole onto down to the path. He then swung himself over the rail and into the canal, which had been dry for most of the day before ice came pouring down.

"Yes!" He pumped his fist up in excitement as he found that he was the first to be here. He beamed to himself. It seemed that his female double would have to pay the price.

"Jack?" The boy swung around when he heard a light feminine voice from the path. The girl in the purple spandex seemed to be panting, as if she had been running.

"Sol?" He eyed with surprise. "I thought you might have left."

The blonde seemed a little peeved at his comment. "And leave you here with all these people after you? That would be horrid." She frowned as she observed where he was standing. "What are you doing in there?"

"Oh, we're going to escape through the sewers." He beckoned her to enter. "C'mon! It's the best chance we have getting out of here."

She nodded and started to climb over. As she was half-way over the fence, she paused. "Hold on a moment – who's 'we'?"

"Well, at first it was going to me and the Fake-Jack, but since you're here, you best come with-"

"You're working with the impersonator?" She certainly sounded aghast as she swung her legs over the metal. He could have sworn the pet on her shoulder made a face.

"Oh, we had a little chat and she's really not that bad," Jack explained cheerily, hooking her staff behind both his shoulders and wrapping his arms around it. Then, he paused as he glanced downwards. Something didn't seem quite right.

" 'She'?" He heard the blonde girl say, while his own eyes were fixed onto snow lining the canal. "Your impersonator's a girl?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, eyes narrowing as he examined the ground below him. "Though maybe a little older than a … girl." There seemed to be footprints on the snow – footprints that weren't his own. Considering that he only started the snow a few minutes ago, that was certainly mysterious.

Even more mysterious was how more foot prints started appearing by themselves.

He removed the staff swiftly from his shoulders, swinging it with one hard stroke. He felt the staff hit something in the middle of the air – something he couldn't see – he heard a sharp yelp. Snow splashed against the side of the canal, forming a dent near it. An oddly hollow dent.

"What was that?" Jack heard the photokinetic girl gasp, but he never got a chance to reply, because suddenly a rush of wind came flying towards him, striking him powerfully in the jaw. He fell back, groaning in agony as he clutched the bruise. From the one eye he could keep open, he saw Solaris running towards him, only to be flung back when a bright luminous purple wall appeared before her. He heard a subtle hiss, one that he recognized, and he swung his head in time to see a person dressed in dark body armor aiming the barrel at his ally. The girl crumpled to the ground instantly.

Jack scampered away before he too could be tranquilised, hopping himself to his feet and sending a gust to the shooter's way, launching him backwards. His keen eyes had already spotted the logo on the man's shoulder pads, and he knew that _they_ had found him. Escape had never been more important.

Again, another flurry of wind rushed his way, building in strength. This time, he was prepared, so Jack rammed his staff in the ground, forming a thick frosted surface.

" _Whooooooooa-ommmphfff._ " He found collapsed before him a figure dressed in red spandex, smashed against the snow. The kid - for he couldn't be older than thirteen - lifted his head up and spat out of the snow -" _phlaff_!"

Jack pulled a face of disgust. "Gross. Now your saliva is on my snow."

The kid lifted his head, squinted up at him through his rubber mask and scowled.

The boy in the hood leaned himself on the staff. "Say, how old were you when they recruited you?"

Jack suddenly saw the snow by his side shifting before he was struck hard in the stomach, then another one sweeping him before his feet. He observed the air before him blotting into color and a slender masked girl appeared. She was in a similar red costume to that of the kid, except that now he noticed the yellow 'i' on her chest.

"Stand down," the girl told him, black hair waving in the wind as she glared down at him.

Jack felt a gust of wind run by him again and before he knew it, the staff was ripped from his hands. The kid he had tripped earlier now appeared by the elder girl's side, crooked staff in his hand and grinning in triumphant vengeance.

The boy in the hood glowered at the duo, clenching his hand. The air around suddenly turned frigid and the winds especially strong. The two costumed attackers clutched themselves and shivered as he rose back to his feet, frowning even more deeply.

However, it was then he felt himself being grabbed from behind. Something sharp was plunged into his throat. The breeze he had built was drawn to an abrupt halt as he keeled over and flopped to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

When another hooded figure came running to the canal, she was just in time to see a pair of cars drawn up along it.

She quickly hid herself in the shadows, craning her neck slightly to peep at the scene. Darkly dressed figures dragging bulky loads into the seats, of which one of the loads was a person donning a costume similar to her own. The moving figures then got into the vehicles them, save one who scanned their surroundings. Elsa shrunk herself slightly.

The woman on the look-out must have concluded that they had gone unseen, for she relaxed her posture and slipped into the car herself. The vehicles started themselves up and quietly moved off. Elsa noticed that there were these hollow machines attached to the back of the car which blew the snow around them, covering the tire tracks on the snow. In seconds, it was as if they had never been there.

It didn't take much for her to guess that the real cryokinetic hero had been taken off in those cars. If she wanted to do the right thing, she would chase them down right now and intercept them. However, the Yakuza was still after her, or who they thought she was, and here, she was in far too much danger. She could be shot, or worse, revealed.

She dropped herself into the canal, heading into the opening that led to the sewers. Hollers echoed through the streets. Engines roared and thundered above. She sank into the shadows, guilt-suppressed by the need to survive. She would have to find another way to save Jack Frost.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Well, that was fun. And much longer than I expected. Initially, Jack and Elsa weren't supposed to end up on fairly good terms, but, well, that happened.**

 **Guesses on who the people captured Jack and Rapunzel? I personally think it's obvious.**

 **So is Flynn 13? Am I messing with you? Who – no, what – is 13?**

 **Up Next: Back to Hiccup, and a bunch of 'interrogations'.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hello! Guess who came back from Japan?**

 **Oh, um, the answer is me. Yeah.**

 **I love Japanese food, so it was pretty great. Of course, it's back to work immediately after, but still, the food's awesome – if you like raw food, like me. That said, didn't see much autumn colors because that apparently only happens closer to winter time. Oh, well. The food was great, and so were the toilets (the legendary Japanese toilets that warm up the seat for you combined with bidet sprays of adjustable heat and strength).**

 **Anyway, I've gathered lots of inspiration for this universe, so hopefully updates can be more frequent.**

 **Ha. Right.**

 **Reviews are appreciated as always. See ya round.**

 **Questions. Critiques. Reviews.**


	21. Chpt 20: Full Stop

Chapter 20: Full-Stop

* * *

Of all places, Sumin Hill _had_ to be a graveyard.

An unwelcome shiver ran down Hiccup's spine as he trudged down the solemn, stone-strewn lane. He was back in the normal kid gear, because if he was caught sneaking around here, it would be easier to pass himself off as an idiot teenager with macabre tendencies rather than a foreign superhero trying to solve a murder mystery while trying not getting murdered.

Toothless didn't take to the environment too favourably either. For a creature whose alternate form was called 'Night Fury', the Bombay cat had no great love for gloominess and kept himself close to heel of his human companion, fur bristled and ears twitching.

Though he did not trust the vigilante of Burgeshima, Hiccup respected the importance of holding his end of the bargain, even if that bargain was unfairly made. However, heading to his destination without weapon didn't mean that he was absolutely defenseless. For one, Toothless accompanied him. The vigilante did after all say no reptiles, but nothing on felines and Hiccup was more than happy to exploit that loophole. If ever it was necessary, the cat could be returned to its larger, fiercer alter-ego at the utterance of a few Nordic words. Moreover, there was a black Kevlar suit hidden under Hiccup's loose fitting green shirt and his utility belt still held an assortment of tools, including the spray can of paralytic Flightmare toxin. He did not, however, carry any of his portable digital devices. That was the first rule of facing off a technopath – don't supply them with weapons that they can use against you.

He did, however, retain an earpiece and the glasses that he had used earlier when tracking the signal earlier. He needed them to find his way to Sumin Hill. Oh, and he was also carrying one other little object. He refused to call it a weapon. It was more like ...insurance.

"Run through with me how this thing works again?" Hiccup deliberately averted his gaze from the columns of marble prisms that flanked his sides. He wasn't particularly superstitious, but after being forced to watch enough horror flicks about the crimes of accidentally disrespecting the resting dead, he privately admitted being here at the 'witching hour' was giving some serious creeps. So he reminded himself of his task, and that was by squinting down at the thin cylinder in his palm. "What am I supposed to do with this again?"

"Before you enter the East Tower, squeeze the cylinder. It will send an EMP blast that should shut off all electrical devices within a quarter mile radius." He heard Fishlegs give a long yawn. "Of course, that includes this communicator and the digi-shades. Please remove the earpiece before you turn the EMP on, or you'll get a flush of white noise in your ears again again."

"Right." Toying uneasily with the device in his hand, he found himself passing under the cover of the trees as the formal lines drawn by the gravestones became tangled in the overgrowth and the moonlight was blocked out by the leafy overhang.

The East Tower was located in the deep in the forest, fenced up with a huge courtyard that made it almost like a shrine. It was built like a pagoda of six square-shaped layers, with the bases of each layer alternating in size. Large decorative beams stretched from core of the building to form curled eaves that protected the intricately decorated undersides of their slanted roofs. Hiccup stood outside the entrance that gate of it that had no doubt been shut in the afterhours. A quick scan with his digi-shades told him that there weren't any strong surveillance networks in the vicinity. Even if there were, they were about to be disrupted.

"I'm going in," he told his ally over the communicator as he slid the shades off his nose, folding them up. "Remember, if I don't come back in-"

"-an hour, get help. I know, Hiccup." Though sleepy, Fishlegs was awake enough to sound irritated. "After all this time, don't you trust me?"

The boy sighed. "Alright. Fine. Well, here it goes." His jaw tightened. "Knight signing off."

He removed the earpiece, then squeezed the EMP generator in his hand. The green light on it turned red. To check that it was working, he fit the earpiece back in his ear and the confirmation crackle rapped against his ear drums. The pulse worked. If 13 was planning to bring a digital weapon, it wasn't going to work here.

He bundled all of his three devices together in a small pouch and he laid this by the base of the gate. Glancing quickly at the fence, he noted that it wasn't even electrified. Getting in would be too easy.

He picked Toothless up and the cat automatically tore itself from his grip, climbing onto his shoulder and securing himself there. Hiccup then grabbed onto the twisted wires and began his ascent.

The fence was pretty tall, but having scaled building of greater height, this was child's play. Hiccup leapt down on the other side of the barrier without breaking a sweat – or perhaps that was due to the chilly wind. Stroking the fur of his feline companion as his muscle tensed, the boy crossed the stone-lined courtyard, passing miniatures of ferocious looking deities and stone _tōrōs_. He climbed the stairs and stopped at the entrance. There was no lock, so he slid open the wooden doors, stepped over ledge and entered the East Tower of Sumin Hill.

Moving away from the door, Hiccup pulled out a torch light from his utility belt and hit the switch. The small dot of yellow grew into white and he moved the tool around. He blinked in surprise as he laid eyes on the interior of the tower. Yes, there were the expected lofty vaults and angled arches built from the stacking of beams over beams. Yes, there were still the gilded urns to hold incense and copper lanterns hanging down from the rafter above him. Yes, there was a central shrine that was a raised dais that could be ascended by a small flight of steps. These were all pretty typical in a traditional shrine.

Except that this was a shrine that had an array of rectangular structures that was fitted against every second wall of the chamber. Each rectangular structure had flowers laid over them, freshly-placed, and each had an individual incense urn placed before it. There were names in _hiragana_ carved into the side of these huge marble structures and it was then that Hiccup realized that he had not stepped into a shrine as much as he had stepped into mausoleum.

He also noticed that the ground under his feet did not feel firm and sure as the wooden boards of a shrine usually should feel, so he shone the light downwards to examine it. Sand - black sand - covered every inch of the ground of this pagoda-shaped mausoleum, adding more strangeness to this already peculiar place. Toothless didn't seem to like the black grains under his paws much and he furiously rubbed his head against Hiccup's right leg until the boy picked him up and set him shoulder once more. Taking careful steps on the uneven surface, Hiccup together with Toothless explored the mausoleum.

As he examined each one of the rectangular structures that he knew now to be sarcophagi, he couldn't help the incredulity that burned inside him. He had undergone the same basic cultural lessons that everyone went to, so he knew that traditionally, Ameripanians were cremated, then the graves were built to contain those ashes. Of course, the influx of Western influence in the Industrial era might have influenced some to go for full-body burials in the ground (because that was such a wise-use of limited landspace), but for majority of the people, cremation was still preferable. He started to get inkling that this tower, for all its traditional appearance, was only built recently.

Thoughts rolled over in his head and Hiccup became more and more puzzled with each step he took around the mausoleum. What was the purpose of 13 choosing to meet him here? If the vigilante wanted a tactical advantage over him, he should have picked up place that would have more technology. A mausoleum, especially one like this, would not exactly be working to his favour.

There could be number of reasons for why the vigilante had chosen this place:

a) He was fair. He wanted to pick a place that he knew himself and Knight would be on fair ground.

Hiccup was definitely sceptical on this one. 13 had no shame about hacking into his communication lines and digging up his secret identity. Nope. Option a) was out.

b) 13 wanted to show him something in the Tower.

While this one seemed a little more plausible, Hiccup cast a doubtful glance at the mausoleum-that-looked-like-a-shrine. It was an interesting site, sure enough, but a room of dead people didn't seem really related to the work that 13 did. It was definitely not related to the bombing at San Fransokyo.

c) 13 was, well…not a technopath, as he had assumed, and he had walked straight into a trap.

Hiccup suddenly heard a loud slam behind him and he jumped, spinning around to examine it. The door that had been left open behind earlier had been slid shut by a firm gust of wind. _If_ it was a gust of wind.

Hiccup rolled his eyes and sighed. "This place is definitely starting to get to me," he told Toothless plaintively. "I'm even seeing horror movie cliches everywhere."

Instead of his usual bored expressions, Toothless angled his head sharply towards the door and his green eyes narrowed.

The boy didn't really notice this though, for his attention had now been stolen by the shrine sitting on the elevated dais. Cocking his head towards it, he walked over, climbed the stairs and approached the shrine. As he drew nearer, he realized that there was actually an opening by its side, half-covered in drapery. One hand moved toward the paralytic spray strapped to his belt as he inched towards the narrow crevice. Toothless himself went quiet, balancing himself on the narrow shoulders of his boy as he prepared to make a killer pounce.

Hiccup pulled back the drapery carefully, eyes scanning the dark space before he moved into it. As he took himself around the corner, he found himself in another chamber of the tower, one that had been artfully hidden from view on the outside of the tower. The ceiling was much lower and the path narrower. The boy looked around him in wonder as he noted the gold-gilded decorations around the walls, making the chamber seem to glow when the light from his torch touched them. The depictions of flora and fauna were woven into the pillars and the vaults, making the tight space seem more intimate than claustrophobic. It was as if he had stepped into a secret garden of sorts, where the flowers were made of mosaics and the trees of stone.

He then noticed that like outer chamber of the tower, there were two sarcophagi in this lovely chamber, except that these were fearfully carved with gorgeous motifs that followed the theme of nature as nature as well. As Hiccup drew near to one of the sarcophagi, he noticed that there was an image of woman carved on it. The lines drawn were simple, with the purpose of representing the one resting within it rather than give an accurate portrayal of her appearance. The boy noted that the incense holder held freshly charred sticks, with the sweet scent still lingering in the air.

He then moved towards the other one opposite it, squinting to examine the design on over the stone surfaces. Like the other sarcophagus, this was covered delicate designs of the creatures of the forest, with the only difference being that this sarcophagus was smaller. As Hiccup ran his torch down the image carved into the stone, he gasped.

It was unmistakable, even in its abstracted form, that the sarcophagus depicted a young girl. Her eyes were closed and hands folded over her stomach. Her hair was spread like crown around her head, with flowers and butterflies tangled between the strands. The dress etched onto the flat surface was surprisingly realistic, flowing over her small form and falling loosely over the grassy meadow that was the backdrop. When he lifted his head, Hiccup noticed that there was concave niche cut into the wall just behind the sarcophagus. An idol with a serene expression sat there before the incense holder, and below it was a wooden tablet with a name in _katakana_ script engraved on it.

It took him a while to dig his brain for all the characters he had learned in school: 映-e, 美-mi, 莉-ri, 蒔-ji, 苑-en.

 _Emiri Jien._ A unique, slightly awkward sounding name told him that this wasn't one who was born with a Japanese name, but had it translated for the sake of conventionality.

There was a bouquet of flowers rested over the folded arms of the girl on the sarcophagus and Hiccup reached to pick up it gently. On closer scrutiny, he noticed that they were white chrysanthemums - flowers of grief - that had yet to fall victim to decay.

And then suddenly something latched itself to his wrist.

He dropped the chrysanthemums at once, shining the light on the ring of black sand hooked around his arm. Bewildered, he hurriedly dropped the torch, letting it roll onto the sarcophagus and falling off the edge. With his freed hand, he yanked at the odd black trail and was surprised to find that despite its fragile appearance, it was impossible to break. He realized then that the black ring was attached to a long chain made of more sand. As he tugged, he found that he could not move for the chain had his arm locked to the ground. The black grains below his soles also started to swim, as if they had come to life. Before he could even shift, he felt a vice-like vine wrapping around his right ankle, then his prosthetic left one, twirling and swirling around his calves, engulfing his lower body in a thick black lattice.

"Toothless!" The cat was already on the move. It leapt up onto the sarcophagus and raced towards him. Baring our its teeth, Toothless gnawed on the sand-constructed ring around Hiccup's wrist, only to jerk back in surprise as more sand flew up into the air and fastened itself to the black constructs, making the ring thicken more and more each minute.

The boy twisted himself. He yanked at his feet to no avail. He pulled on his left arm, then on his right that had now been snared, but both could not budge under the manacles that had been glued to them. He summoned every fibre of his body against the ink-colored grains that were swimming over his skin, but the sand grains just flowed around his movements, giving him the freedom to make struggle all he liked without letting him free from its grasp.

He saw a tendril of black reach towards the cat and he cried, "Toothless!"

The feline immediately pounced out away from the black sand, dashing across the marble surface and leaping to a ledge opposite.

This trap, or whatever 13 had planned, had gone far enough. They were getting out of here. Hiccup parted his lips and chanted, _"Þá gaf sínum Sveini, sverðs minn fað-"_

And long stalk of black sprouted out from the ground and slammed straight into the lower half of his face, sealing his mouth.

 _"-mmmmhhh!"_

He shook his head wildly, but the sand only crawled more determinedly up his face, down his neck, spreading over every inch of his form.

Emerald eyes frantically sought out his feline companion and he jerked his head towards the opening – the escape that only one of them could afford now. _"Mmmmphf! Mmmmphff!"_

Toothless let out a little growl, his disdain for his boy's order evident.

Useless feline! Hiccup berated himself internally for ever spoiling the creature with that much freedom. He could feel the grains climbing up his side, coiling itself around his hips, then up his waist. It might have just been his imagination, but he felt himself sinking into the sea of sand below him.

Jerking his head against the arched opening one last time – _"MMMMHPFFF!"_

Giving his master a torn expression, the feline finally made its way for the exit, climbing on the inbuilt ledge on the walls and swerving around the sentient black particles that chased its paws.

Once Toothless disappeared around the hall, two long wiry shapes rose out of the whirlpool of spinning sand. As the wires unfolded themselves, they resembled bony hands, with fingers as sharps as razors and about as kind. He writhed. He fought. He could feel his heart racing under the layers of black material. He had only felt this helpless on one occasion before and it was feeling he had no intention of having again.

But intentions did not translate into action. Hiccup could do nothing but watch as the black claws raced towards him – towards his face – and his vision suddenly went pitch black.

* * *

He spent his time in the elevator reminiscing.

It was a painful past time that he found himself indulging a bit too much into. But yet, how could he not? The past was a sweet, safe haven. It was so bright, so hopeful, so full of dreams.

But it wasn't real. Not anymore, anyway. Like the best of dreams, he was roused from his pleasant recollections. And like the worst of nightmares, he could never chase away the hollowness swallowed him from the inside, even after waking.

When the elevator doors drew open, Pitch stepped out, black robes flowing behind him, ribbons of shadows dancing close to his feet as he moved into the darkness. Guards stationed in the sector lowered their weapons to bow at him and as usual, he ignored them, the way most people would ignore shadows - the way most people would ignore _nightmares_.

But he couldn't very well ignore what he was made of, what he was consumed by. He didn't have that fortune. It was his curse.

Pitch found the secretary waiting for him at the end of the corridor, scrolling through her digital pad and only halting when she saw him. Quickly lowering the device, Bellwether straightened herself and her glasses. " _Kumicho-sama!_ Y-y-you're here right on time. Oh, m-m-my-"

"Where?" he cut her off abruptly.

The small woman was startled, and began stammering, "R-r-right this way, sir."

She held her arm out to for him to walk ahead and he did, while she scuttled behind, fumbling for her notes frantically.

"Well, start explaining," he ordered her as they passed the cells. Out of the entire _shiro_ , the lower floors were the most modern-looking; mainly because here was a place that functionality here was prized over appearance, and because no visitors would ever pass through these halls - unless they had committed an offence. It was the second highest security place of the entire of _shiro_ – the highest being his own quarters.

"Y-yes, sir," the secretary stumbled over her words as she brought up her notes. "As per you orders, sir, anything disturbance to the Cradle is to be looked into and brought to your attention if deemed warranted."

"So, who's the intruder this time?"

"A teenager, sir." His strides were long and Bellwether had to be run to keep up with them. "We've managed to identify him and run a full background check on him. He's not from Burgeshima, sir."

"Oh?"

"He's from Berkazaki. When questioned, he claimed that he was here to complete a school project." She swiped the page on her screen to check for more details. "We've had him checked for tattoos. He's clean."

"It sounds like the misadventure of a curious idiot. You could have easily dealt with yourselves," Pitch mused, brow arching. He halted his steps abruptly, glaring down at the secretary. "Why was this brought to my attention again?"

The woman shook under the threatening gaze. "W-well, sir, his background checks may have come down as relatively cl-clean sir, but he possesses some items that make us think otherwise." She thumbed the glass-walled cubicle before them.

In the bullet-proofed, bomb-proofed room, one of the _kumi-in_ in his tight guard uniform was making notes on the confiscated items that laid on the table. Items which included a military-style belt of curious tools and a Kevlar body suit.

"These are not the belongings of a boy up to mischief. These are the tools of a soldier."

Pitch narrowed his brows together.

He was led to the outside of holding cell, which was a low-pressure cabin with interior walls painted completely white. There were no windows and the only door was made to be completely opaque. The cell itself was built narrow, with the breath of the room with not even enough space to stretch one's arms out fully in a horizontal manner. It was designed to be feel intensely suffocating, claustrophobic even.

And the very fact that it was white made it the perfect canvas for his art.

He heard Bellwether shouting the command to unlock the entrance. When the buzz rang out, he turned the handle and he stepped in.

The delinquent had each of his arms chained to opposing walls, forcing him to stand right in the centre of the narrowing crevice and his hand raised over his head. As he allowed the door to fall shut behind him, Pitch examined the boy coolly from head to toe.

He was small, wiry fellow, but not without a bit of muscle hidden behind the robe that the interrogators had dressed him after searching him for tattoos. His head was wet, probably from something during the questioning process. Pitch noted with surprise the boy's left foot – or rather, lack thereof. His subordinates had allowed the boy's to keep his prosthetist as a form of mercy. After all, with how short the arm chains were, it was impossible for their prisoner to do anything but stand. The man frowned. He would have them confiscate it later.

He spent a good moment scrutinizing the boy further. The sand must have done quite a number on him, judging by the pallor of the boy's countenance. There were already circles around his eye and his exhaustion was evident by how he slumped himself against the wall, arms hanging limp from their binds and legs already falling over themselves. But when he noticed that he had company, the lad raised his head and straightened himself up.

"Hi, there," the boy greeted him with a lop-sided grin. He let out a sigh that betrayed his tiredness. "I'm Hiccup. I know what you're thinking – great name, huh? Well,-" he tilted over to the right to rest his head on his restrained arm, "-it's a sad tradition in the family to name children diminutive names to ward off trolls, as if our pleasant demeanor wouldn't do that." He glanced down at the robe that he had been bundled into. "By the way, your people stole my clothes. That's pretty rude and slightly unsettling. Just saying."

Pitch eyed the teenager warily, and he began a mental probe, lightly at first. Unlike the usual flood of thoughts and emotions he would expect from the guileless, all he got was a whiff of the boy's mind. The little that he had unsurfaced were extremely vague and the images that he could read were only blurred visions. In the back drop, he could a steady humming and he knew that this was mind trained to control its fear.

Whatever this boy might pretend to be, he was not fooling anyone.

The question was straightforward. "Who are you?"

The boy's brows knitted themselves together with a hint of annoyance, "I just said it. My name's Hiccup Haddock. Who are you? No, wait, let me guess…" he squinted at him in a dazed fashion, before his eyes suddenly wide and his face paled. Pitch took some satisfaction that the joking façade had been ebbed away.

The boy then stuttered, "Y-you're Pitch Black. That mobster guy from – Holy sneakers of Thor!"

Pitch smiled slightly, then frowned when he sensed that the control the boy had over his emotions remained intact. That was merely an act.

He marched forward, arms tensed by his sides. "Do not play games with me, boy. I assure you that you will lose." Hostility reeked from his every syllable, and he punctuated each word with a step – _"Who"_ – step- _"-are-"_ step _"-you?"_

The green eyes flickered up to him, then flitted downward. Pitch sensed that the barrier in the boy's mind shake, but after a moment, it steadied once again. In a sluggish drawl, the petulant adolescent answered, "I don't get you at all."

"Why are you here?" Pitch demanded. "What could possibly draw a boy from Berkazaki to Burgeshima?"

"Okay, okay, if you really want to know,-" the boy curled his wrist around his chains and hoisted himself up, peering at him blearily, "-I'm here to do a school project on 'Dealing with Death' in different cities, and I picked Burgeshima because of the predominantly native Japanese population. Everyone else in my class is just gonna do Berkazaki, and I thought – 'heck, no way am I going to conform'. So, yeah." The chains clinked as he released his grip on them. He leaned forward towards his captor and rambled on, "Now, I really have to know – when you carried a scythe back when you were the Boogeyman, did anyone ever mistake you for a communi-OOOWWW!"

The chains that had been lying slack before suddenly tightened as black-sand tendril wrapped them, pulling the prisoner's body taunt in the centre of the cell. A biting black extension of Pitch's own hand shot straight towards the boy's neck, making him gasp when his windpipe was abruptly compressed and breathing made incredibly difficult. The white of the room grew dim rapidly as the shadows started swept over it.

With the lad writhing in his grip, the Nightmare King growled, "Who are you working for? The Triads? The Feds? WHO?"

"I work-" the boy gagged "-for a car mechanic called Gobber. Mean pay, but good-" he spluttered when the claws pressed against his jugular _"-hoursss."_

"Your age doesn't deceive me and your lies are doing nothing to convince me," the dark man spat at him, gaunt features hardening. "What were you doing on my property?"

"Your pr-property?" the boy wheezed, trying to move, but Pitch's hold allowed him no such thing.

"It's well-known that the Sumin Hill belongs to the Nightmare Yakuza, and it is extremely well-known that access to the East Tower is exclusive to me, and only _me_." He squeezed the throat harder, making the teen's eyes widen in pain. "Trespassing can be considered an act of war."

 _"I …didn't… know,-"_ splutter, cough _"-can't…breathe…"_

With an exasperated groan, Pitch released his grip on the teen, allowing the boy to slump forward and suck in air like a dying man – and perhaps that was what he was. The sand had varying effects on different people, so who could say for sure?

Staring down at the young lad from Berkazaki, whose name was so ridiculous that he couldn't even bear to think of it, Pitch said, "Last chance. Who sent you and what are you really doing here?"

The bony form of the captive, hanging almost limp by the chains, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe normally once again, raised it head. The heat from Pitch's glare was said to be able to melt the flesh off bones, yet this … weakling just gazed at up him without a flinch. It was here that the kingpin of Burgeshima's most deadly crime syndicate realized that this was the true face of this peculiar, mild-tempered teenager. He was not afraid.

 _Courage._ Pitch could finally explain the shield that the boy had over his mind. From what he could unravel, it was due to circumstances related to the prosthetic leg, but that was all he could tell. The details were all guarded by the boy's sheer will, and even Pitch had to respect that.

But courage was the mastery of fear, not the absence of it, and the mastery that a young boy of sixteen with a false foot could not compare to a man who had been plagued by terror for fifty years.

"Very well." Pitch flexed his fingers, making the joints crick as he did. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He didn't even need to think. It came to him so naturally like the act of gravity on rain. Darkness rose out of nothingness, swarming around him and the captive, enveloping them whole in its cold kiss and cruel embrace. Light was chased away, sent fleeing by some physics-defying phenomenon that he didn't understand. He was filled with its power while being ripped apart by it, and made him feel alive. It flowed through his veins, into his heart and his mind. His soul, turned inky black in over the years from heinous deed to heinous deed, rejoiced as the force and fire filled it once again, even if it knew that it would too eat him away eventually.

Pitch smiled pitifully at his victim.

And then he let the sand loose.

* * *

It was November the Fourteenth, 2014, 10:30pm. It was raining, which was pretty inconvenient at the moment, because he couldn't tell whether it was rain dripping down his jaw, or blood.

The showdown, or whatever this fruitless confrontation was called, took place on the roof top of Berkazi's old Natural History Museum. It was supposed to be appropriate because dragons were clearly related to dinosaurs, according to Dagur. The gangster had also mentioned that he was planning to 'make them all history' before the night ended.

He was doing a pretty good job of it so far.

Hiccup's shaky hand reached towards his chin, catching a bit of the liquid on his finger-tips and trembling, he raised it towards his eyes. Yep, blood.

"All this time! Who'd have thought?" Every word was throb against his skull and he winced. His helmet, by right, would have protected his head when he was thrown against the wall. The problem was that he wasn't wearing a helmet. Fishlegs hadn't finished constructing that part of the armor. No, all he had on was a prototype body suit that used a combination of memory foam and experimental-stage neural sensors that helped to reduce the pain in that burned against his waist and his leg.

The key word being 'reduced', because it still hurt like Hel and a million fires.

A harsh chuckle rang in the air and Hiccup grimaced once again as his eardrums moved. The grating voice followed, "The wimp! The runt! The one person no one thought would amount to anything -"

He heard the splashing water as heavy, lead-lined boots trudge towards him. A strong hand hoisted him up by the collar and he found his own face thrust into a face grinning madly, a face that bore three tattooed lines over an eye, a face mocking him and everything that he loved.

"-the super! The dragon rider! The hero that nobody asked for! HAHAHAHAHA!"

Dagur the Deranged, last free member of the Helheim's Gate gang and teenage psychopath, indulged himself in a hearty cackle that could have only been learned by watching too many Tim Curry movies. Hiccup's head flopped back and he washed in the sight of his errors.

Astrid's own attempt to save the Commissioner of Berkazaki went completely astray. As he had suspected, she hadn't a clue of how Dagur operated and somehow or another, he must have tricked her into separating from Toothless. The unhinged criminal had grasped the opportunity to entrap the beast and unmask the hero, only to discover that the one behind Knight's mask was a girl. Dagur was, sadly, smart enough to recognize that the blonde was not the one he was really looking for. When Hiccup arrived, garbed in Dragon Suit 2.0, the underaged hellion had been more than ready. After all, he started getting a little restless after beating the girl into a bloody pulp and firing shots next to the commissioner's head in alternation.

Hiccup had come in a disguise initially, but it was pointless, because Dagur had recognized Astrid, and that gave him all that he needed to fill the blanks on Knight's secret identity.

"This is hilarious."

Snicker bursting into guffaws.

"You're hilarious."

 _Hahahahaha._

"Honestly, if I could give anyone the 'Comedian of the Year' Award, it'd be you, 'coz this is priceless."

Cold chuckles.

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it for myself."

From his vantage point, he could see his blonde best friend sprawled on the ground, golden hair caked in blood. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach as she coughed sticky blood onto the floor. She had a hand pressed against the granite concrete and he could see that she was doing all she could to push herself off the ground, only that it wasn't enough. Her bloodshot eyes were burned into the back of the gangster's head, full of utter detestation – not that the scarred boy cared right now.

"Despite that, though. I have to admit I'm a tad – okay, not a tad – more like, major-ly annoyed about this plot twist. I mean, -" slight chortle "-we're _brothers_ , Hiccup! That means we're supposed to trust each other. _And you didn't tell me?"_ There was a note of mock hurt in that tone. "I'm really shocked by the lack of faith."

Toothless was bolted down in a net made of elastic cables and no matter how the Night Fury twisted and swung against the wires, he couldn't break free. He couldn't even blast himself out, for the netting was too tight for him to even part his jaws.

"Okay, okay, -" Dagur rolled his eyes in exasperated manner "- I might have kidnapped your father and shot you twice, but seriously, you're still hard up about that? Dude, that's like _ages_ _ago_ by now. Get over it!"

His father.

His father was still bound up together in ropes and chains. The neat office clothes that he took so much time to iron and press each day were ripped at the seams, with each marked rip marked prominentlyby bruises and wounds. Despite all the blood loss and the injury, the commissioner of Burgeshima was still sturdy enough to be conscious. Conscious enough to follow all that had transpired here. Conscious enough to know that his son – his own flesh and blood – the teen vigilante that his subordinates have been hunting for the last half a year were one and the same.

Throughout their whole time together, Hiccup had only glanced at him once. He didn't want to catch his father's horrified expression. He didn't – couldn't bear the weight of it right now.

"Did you know about this, Stoick, old boy?" Dagur flung Hiccup back to the ground and delivered a sharp kick in the ribs, though his attentions were turned to his father. The wound near his navel flared up and young hero hissed, instinctively balling his body up and clenching his teeth. Eyes rolled up as he strove to hold in the gasps of pain. He would not give his foe the satisfaction of seeing him him. No, he would not.

"Did you know-" Dagur had been swaggering carelessly down the rain-soaked path when he found the gronkle-iron enforced left boot lying in his way. He paused, then rammed his own foot against that of the other boy's, releasing a hushed groan from Hiccup's lips. The young gangster only grinned pleasantly and continued, "Sorry - did you know that you were aiding and abetting a criminal all this while, Commissioner? If you did, well, shame on you. If you didn't, well, -" he let out a snigger as he removed his semi-automatic pistol from its holster "-shame on you."

Against his own will, Hiccup propped himself up on the concrete. His body felt as if it was ripping itself apart, with the lung telling him to breathe and the barely-healed wound along his ribs telling for the love all things pure not to move a muscle. The scorching sensation on his leg made him feel like clawing out his own eyes and he could feel that blood pooling around his stomach, leaking into the insides of his supportive armor.

"To be honest, I didn't really have an extremely elaborate plan for this," Dagur was saying as he pulled back the slide, then released it with a chilling 'click'. "There was like only three steps to the whole thing: One, kidnap Commissioner. Two, lure Knight and Fury. Three, trap them together and blow the whole place to kingdom come – but you know what? _Hahahahahahaha!_ " Even in the downpour, even from the awkward position that he was lying on the ground, Hiccup could see the delighted glint in the other boy's eye. "I think I've got a better idea."

"This is a _drOI 8.0_ of _the_ _Infinity_ series – a state of the art mobile phone which I picked off some dead loser five days back." Hiccup watched as Dagur used his free hand to dig into his pockets and produced a sleek black device. The scarred gangster balanced it on his palm while his fingers flew across the screen, having no qualms about rain soaking the device.

"Waterproof, lightweight, and boasts the photographic and filming abilities of a DSLR. This baby-" Dagur gazed fondly at the phone "-has been real handy to me. You know that video that I put online?" He beamed down at his fallen rival in a manner that could have almost been innocent. "Not meaning to sound like an advertisement, but yeah-" he tapped the phone meaningfully with the barrel of his revolver "-I have this little gizmo to thank."

He spun away from Hiccup and turned to the rest of his captives, face almost gleaming under the moonlight. "But I'm sure you're all _dying_ – ha, to see what I did? - to know what I'm going to do, and because I love monologuing-" Dagur smirked "-I'm going to tell you."

He held out up the phone, shaking it emphatically all four of them could see it. "How many people do you think would pay to know the boy behind the leather mask? Hmmm? How many? I could name lots. But you know what? I'm going to be generous." He threw his arms up for emphasis, firing a shot in the showering sky unintentionally. All on site, except the shooter himself, flinched.

Obviously, Dagur didn't care. "I'm going to release it on the Internet for free. _Completely_ free. I'm going to let the world know that Hiccup Haddock is Knight, and you know what?" He crouched himself down to the auburned-haired lad with the bloodied face. "I'm going to let you go after tonight, and maybe your dad too." He shrugged as he waved his pistol carelessly at the commissioner, who was twisting powerlessly in his bonds. "But by tomorrow, every criminal in Berkazaki would be after you. HAHAHA! Every fed would be after you! Wouldn't that be a great life?"

The scarred boy snickered, until his gaze rested on the trapped reptile, who was hissing and snarling at him. "Well, I suppose you won't need the Night Fury anymore, so I'll be taking him." He made a show of pondering. "Probably will get a good price on the market – sell him as dinosaur you know."

He patted Hiccup on the cheek patronizingly, making the boy scowl. Inside him, Hiccup held a dozen insults, but he couldn't speak. His mouth was dry. His breath was weak. He couldn't even maintain the scowl for long before he slumped back down in exhaustion.

"As for the girl though..." Dagur slowly rose to his feet as he looked at the blonde. He then stepped towards her, feet splashing intentionally on the puddles. Astrid glared at him, defiant even though her body had surrendered to the abuse rendered on him. The flicker of terror could only be detected by one who knew her. Sadly, Hiccup did know her and he saw everything.

"Well, you're pretty, I'll give you that." The scarred criminal gave her sidelong glance, squinting at her. "But yeah, you're absolutely useless to me."

He pressed his pistol into her forehead. Hiccup's heart almost stopped.

"Last words?"

* * *

About an hour later, the _Kumicho_ of the Nightmare Yakuza emerged from the elevator on the upper floors, a sombre shadow on his face. The living quarters floor was silent as he passed through, for the servants stationed by the walls had been trained well to blend into the backdrop. His arms clasp behind him as he brooded over the knowledge he had just acquired and what he ought to do with it. As he made a turn around a corner, he heard a 'creak' against the floorboard that had not been by his own foot. He halted his steps, eyes darting suspiciously about.

At last, he said, "I know you're there. You might as well come out."

A pause later, he heard the wooden board groan again, followed by the tapping of heels against the floor. Into the glow of the fire lamps appeared his daughter, garbed in her sleep robe. Her hands were gloved, and in them, she bore a tray of tea. She gave a deep nod to greet him. "Father."

Pitch relaxed. "Oh, it's you." He eyed the tray. "You could've gotten the servants to get that for you, if you were really dying for a drink."

"It's not for me," his daughter answered, approaching him with a mixture of hurry and wariness. She set the tray onto a hutch cupboard, picking up the pot and pouring the tea into the cup. The act itself brought back memories for him. He recalled too well the numerous ceramic pieces she would crack back in the day when she practiced pouring. Years had granted her much greater self-control and the tea no longer froze under her care. He liked to think that this success was attributed to him – one of the things he did not regret, perhaps.

Two hands scooped up the porcelain piece and she lifted the cup to him with a humble dip of the head, held up like an offering. He accepted it, but did not drink, questioning instead, "What do you want?"

She was unmoved by his scathing tone, merely replying, "This was meant as a 'thank you' for that matter with my-" she hesitated "-well, with my birth sister."

He sipped it cautiously and found that it was hot enough to be pleasant, but cool enough to drink. He downed the cup, then handed the cup back to her. "Is that all?"

"No." _Ah_ , there it was. "I also want a favor."

"Well, what is it?"

"I would like to meet the prisoner you've captured earlier tonight."

He stared at her, perplexed. "Whatever for?"

Without changing her expression, she added, "With all this fuss that you've made about him, I'd like to see him myself."

It took him a while to understand what she was talking about. When he did get it, though, he laughed.

She seemed quite put off by his response. "What?"

"Oh, oh, nothing." He flashed her toothy smile. "The thought was just really hilarious. Anyhow,-" he cleared his throat, turning more grave "-Jack Frost is unfortunately still at large. The boy we have the cell now more-" he waved a hand carelessly in the air as he sought for a word "-of a _consolation prize_."

"Oh, I see." There was definitely surprise in her expression and he noted the hand holding the pot started to shake slightly. He observed as her expression changed from concerned to curious. "Then why on earth are you even keeping the boy here?" She lowered the stout to the cup as she continued, "I just assumed that you would have handed him the adequate punishment and have him set away."

"Yakuza matters, my dear," was his offhanded answer, as he took the cup she offered. "If you were an actual member of it, I wouldn't feel a need to leave you out of everything."

"And you think I'm hilarious." She waited till he was done to retrieve the piece of porcelain from him, then stacked on the tray. "Goodnight, Father."

"Goodnight, daughter." Pitch watched as the blonde woman walked down the hall, presumably back to her own room, and any part of him that had been light-hearted fell away. With a distinct frown, he made his way back to his own quarters. Going to his office, he went directly to a tall lacquered cabinet that stood at close to the fire place. This particular piece of furniture was a fine masterpiece of woodwork, but was considered odd by how its mechanism were designed. The hinges were built to hold the doors closed rather than open, and the panels were melded from the insides of the cabinet. It was impossible to open.

Except for him, of course.

Checking his surroundings just in case any unwanted guest appeared, he waved a hand towards it and the black particles that formed the outer doors of the cabinet melted away. Inside were drawers, all marked and numbers according to their purpose and importance. He didn't need to read them, for he was the one who set them according to this layout in the first place.

He found the file that he was looking for – a rather bulky on. It had its pieces bound together so that it wouldn't fall completely apart. He created a table for himself out of the sand so that he could set it down, undo the binds and remove the relevant sheets.

The document he picked out was thick. On each of its pages, it held on a list of three columns. Names in blocks were filled in the first column, while the second was interspersed with blanks. The third held the status of the individual and relevant date. All of it was handwritten, for he trusted no one for the task other than himself, not even a computer.

 **/**

 **APPLE BLOSSOM**

 **IDENTITY: ADRIANA CASELOTTI;**

 **STATUS: DECEASED (1997)**

 **/**

 **TIMBER MAN**

 **IDENTITY: DICKIE JONES**

 **STATUS: DECEASED (2004)**

 **/**

 **THE IMPALA**

 **IDENTITY: JOHN SUTHERLAND**

 **STATUS: DECEASED (2001)**

 **/**

 **GLASS PRINCESS**

 **IDENTITY: JACQUELINE RUTH WOODS**

 **STATUS: DECEASED (2010)**

 **/**

…

And the list went on.

He poured through the pages, going directly to the last few pages which held the ever frustrated unknowns.

 **/**

 **ST. NICHOLAS**

 **IDENTITY: UNKNOWN**

 **STATUS: SUSPECTED DEPORTATION (SEE DETAILED NOTES 742)**

 **/**

 **EASTER BUNNYMUND**

 **IDENTITY: SUSPECTED (SEE DETAILED NOTES 743)**

 **STATUS: UNKNOWN**

 **/**

 **THE SANDMAN**

 **IDENTITY: SUSPECTED (SEE DETAILED FILES 744)**

 **STATUS: UNKNOWN**

 **/**

 **TOOTH FAIRY**

 **IDENTITY: UNKNOWN**

 **STATUS: UNKNOWN**

 **/**

 **JACK FROST**

 **IDENTITY: JASON WRIGHT (INVALID SINCE 1988)/ JACKSON OVERLAND (INVALID SINCE 1995)**

 **STATUS: LAST SIGHTED IN BURGESHIMA (2015)**

 **/**

He usually would spend time glowering at the names, but he decided this time to stay on task first. He went on to the last page. There had only been entry so far on the page, so he had written neatly the information that he had just acquired under the space that he had left for the Will-O-Wisp of Dunbuoka.

 **/**

 **KNIGHT ( & FURY)**

 **IDENTITY: HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK III**

 **STATUS: DECEASED (2015)**

 **/**

* * *

She awoke to the sound of rapping.

"Hellllllooooo?" _Tap, tap, tapper-tap-tap._ "Anyone alive in this forsaken place?"

White light – a form that she had yet to learn how to replicate - filled her vision and Rapunzel found herself staring up at the ceiling. With a groan, she rubbed the side of her shoulder, which had started to smart. Pulling up the sleeve of the thin garment she was in, she found a bruise there. A flood of memories then rushed through her mind and she made a sharp inhale.

"No, no, no-"

She glanced down at the garment that covered her form. It was just a shirt and loose pair of trousers, grey and unexciting, and definitely not hers. Her pink and purple spandex suit was nowhere to be seen.

"-oh, please, please, no-"

She then felt around the back of her head and sure enough, her hair was at its original length. The mirror on the wall opposite from the bed she was sitting on showed her that the pixie-crop hairdo was undoubtedly back to its mousy brown, and her face –

She felt and found that indeed her domino mask was gone.

"- Mother's going to kill me for sure." She clutched at her spikey strands at the back of her head, her heart racing behind her chest. "I'm dead. I'm definitely dead."

"Sure you are." There was a derisive snort. "Oh, and just a news update, we're kind of stuck here."

She lifted her head up and found that she was trapped in a fully enclosed containment cell. There was one side of it that was made of glass, which allowed her to see the adjacent room that a door attached to it, but there appeared to be no way that she could pass through the glass.

"I hope you have some bright ideas, because I'm all out."

She also found that she was not alone.

His appearance was completely unfamiliar to her, and even what she could see of him did not in any way for her to identify him. He didn't seem much older than her, and his laidback cardigan sweater and the brown pants just made him seem even more ordinary. He gazed ruefully through the glass pane, annoyance wrung on the contours of his face. He then turned to her expectantly. "Well?"

She frowned at him. "Who are you?"

"Someone stuck here with you. Duh," was his scoffing answer, before whacked a hand against the glass once again. "So, got a plan? These walls are seriously starting to close in on me."

Rapunzel was displeased with how he didn't answer her question, and how he didn't ask it back of her, but perhaps there was some basis to his urgency. After all, she did remember being shot at with a tranquilizer pelt before blacking out and now that she had been stripped from her costume. Wherever she was now could not be a safe place.

Crawling off the bed, she got to her feet.

"Stand back," she told her fellow captive, raising her hands as she took position. Lines creased on her forehead as she concentrated, trying to pick at the rays of light moving around the room.

Nothing happened.

"Hmm." She drew her hands back to stare at them. "That's weird."

"Oh, your powers are not going to work here," she heard him say. She looked at him, and he pointed at the light above them, beaming down innocuously. "The cell has been designed to emit special radio waves that neutralizes super powers." He made a hmm-hmm noise that indicated his nonchalance to the matter. "It's useful, I suppose, against powers that have a biological basis."

"Then what's your super power?" That questions shot out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Then again, she had a million queries building inside her. Where was she? Why did the people who kidnapped her kidnap _her_? Who was this guy?

A wry grin appeared on his face. "Well, I'd like to think that I have a gift in annoying people into doing things." He then turned back to the glass and began hammering on it, "HELLO! ANYONE ALIVE OUT THERE!"

"Stop that!" Rapunzel was aghast, glancing worriedly out of the glass. She hissed at him, "You might get us in trouble."

"Trouble is better than boring at this point," he retorted just a _'swooopp'_ sound was heard. The door slid open automatically and steps were heard. The girl with brunette hair felt her chest tighten as she watched a figure emerge through the opening. Automatically, she took up a fighting stance. Even with her powers out of order and being kept in captivity, she had to still be on her guard.

The one who finally approached the glass panel was not quite as Rapunzel would have expected, though. She was a girl – neither tall nor short. She was fully-clad in a form-fitting red and black uniform and her waterfall of jet-black hair hung behind her. She was slender, but in no way appeared weak, and the eyes behind the black mask shone with intelligence.

And then with one black gloved hand, she gave Rapunzel an awkward wave. "Hi there."

The brunette behind the wall did not know how to respond.

"As you can see, you're some kind of containment cell," the costumed girl went on, gesticulating as she spoke. "I need to put a disclaimer here: we put you in this in case you went berserk when you woke up. But since you didn't, um, yay." The black-haired girl clapped her hands, smiling uneasily. "Err, okay, I'm going to let you out, so…don't freak out or do anything weird."

"About time." Her grouchy companion folded his arms. "I have serious issues against unwarranted detainment."

Rapunzel appraised at him chidingly. "Would you stop that? Just cooperate and this will be over soon enough."

"I'm sorry, but-" she heard the girl in the red suit put in, "did you just say something?"

"Oh, not to you," Rapunzel hastily explained, thumbing to her left. "I was talking to him."

The girl on the other side of the glass looked at her oddly, then at the direction she had gestured to. "Um, who?"

"Well, to the guy over-" she waved next to her, then stopped.

There was no one there. She was the only one in the cubicle.

"-oh, hmm."

The girl shot her a suspicious look. "Are you feeling alright?"

Rapunzel scanned the compartment one last time. Her throat felt a little itchy. "I think I might be dehydrated."

"Well, we can then fix that up right away." The masked girl moved over to the wall and began tapping on the screen attached to it. There was a deep groan as the glass panel before Rapunzel split itself from the centre, with half of it being drawn up into the ceiling and the other into the floor. Warily, the brunette girl stepped out of the cell, not knowing quite what to expect. She did, however, feel that a warm feeling returning to her chest and felt her fingers twitch slightly as energy filled it once again.

"Here." The other girl produced a jacket seemingly out of nowhere and handed it to her. "The AC's pretty strong out there, so you'll need it." Then she sighed, rubbing her temple. "Annnndddd I forgot to introduce myself." While Rapunzel had one sleeve of the jacket pulled over her arm, the girl held her gloved hand toward her. "I'm UV from the Incredibles. You may have heard of-"

"The Incredibles?" The other girl's mouth fell open. She gave the other girl a full look over. Suddenly, the color combination and the yellow 'i' crest on the spandex made sense. Rapunzel gasped as recognition finally hit her. "You're Miss Incredible!"

"Well, I've kind of changed my code name," the other superhero said dryly, "but yes, more or le- _ahh_!"

"It's such an honor to meet you!" Of course, she was more than eager to shake the hand of the other teen super, and perhaps she grabbed it a bit too tightly. "I'm a great admirer of all the things your family has done. You truly are incredible heroes!"

"Well, thanks," Miss Incredible, or UV as she was now called, said with a mix of gratefulness and discomfort as she tried to pry her hand free. "I didn't think that there'd be people on the West Coast that knew us. We're mostly centred at Metroville, after all."

"You're kidding." Rapunzel's flattery was never insincere. The alarm and fear that she was feeling earlier had been forgotten. "I've kept all the clippings about you guys since the Revival."

'The Revival'. That was what people dubbed the 21st century return of the supers, starting from the victory of the Incredibles over a robot monster in Metroville all the way to the present. Skeptics called it 'The Impetus' while cynics preferred 'World War III'.

UV chuckled slightly. "You read newspapers. Interesting. Um-" her eyes darted around with uncertainty "-well, I guess we better get you some water, and I think I'll have to answer some of your questions."

"Oh, okay." Rapunzel glanced down at herself, suddenly self-conscious. She peered at the mirror covered wall back in the cell, where her appearance was unmistakable. "Um…"

"Oh, don't worry about that," UV put in comfortingly, noting her distress. "Everyone here's under oath of secrecy, and most of them already know who you are. You don't need to worry about secret identities."

Rapunzel blinked, quizzical-faced. "Where's here?"

"The NSA - National Supers Agency, you know. C'mon,-" she beckoned the girl to follow her, "-M's gonna want to meet you."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Well, here's a very Hiccup-centric chapter.**

 **If you guys don't remember (which I don't blame y'all if you don't. It's been a month), Dagur is just an antagonist from Httyd series. (Yes, not this version doesn't take into account his ...changes since the latest season because I've planned this story last year. Just flow with it.)**

 **Also, future chapters may contain references to The Guardians of Childhood series, because I've found it to be quite a remarkably rich source of ideas.**

 **Oh, yeah, there might be a good number of Incredibles references.**

 **(SIDETRACK: Incredibles 2 is coming out in 2018! I've been waiting for this sequel every since the film came out in 2004! Ahhhhhhhhh!)**

 **MTAB is supposed to take place** **5 years after the movie The Incredibles (Note that The Incredibles itself is estimated to actually occur in the 60s. This will not be so in this story for the sake of coherence), so at this point, the age of Violet, a.k.a. Miss Incredible a.k.a. UV is now 19. The superhero titles used for her and non-canonical, by the way.**

 **The National Super Agency is not invented by me, by the way. It's really from the movie Incredibles.**

 **Also, some of the superheroes that Pitch has on his list are characters and voice actors from some of the classic Disney movies. Have fun guessing.**

 **Describing superhero powers in non-comic book format is not easy.**

 **Well, well, who was Rapunzel odd visitor? Or did she really have one?**

 **Up Next: Jack will be back on his own side. And Hiccup might get some help...or not.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Life goes up, life goes down, but it's still a good life. Don't have a lot of time to sit down and write stuff though, so please bear with my draggy updating schedule.**

 **Guest Mailbox:**

 **Guest (** **10 Oct** **): Well, it's a bit tough trying to update both stories, but I guess I'm aiming to post one chapter a month for both More Than A Bird and When Jack Frost Asks.**

 **Guest (** **13 Oct** **, Chap 10): Well, I'm glad you worked out that this chappie was an April Fool's Joke. It'd never fit in the main story ;). Hope to still see you around.**

 **Well, till the next chapter then. See ya!**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	22. Chpt 21: Whiplash

Chapter 21: Whiplash

In the November of 1982, at top secret government facility of an undisclosed location, a duel like no other was unfolding.

In the arena stood a young woman, armed to the teeth with glittering emerald-coloured plates, trimmed with bright green feathers for flourish. In her hands, she held dual sabres that gleamed in a manner that seemed both unnatural and captivating. Glass-like wings fluttered constantly on her back, allowing her to hover in the air at will. It was the helmet on her head was though, stitched with dozens of feathers, plumed with a bright yellow one as it's centre piece, that stood out most prominently in her costume. Though small in size, she was a floating figure of grace and grandeur.

In contrast, her opponent wore little else other than the tattered trousers that clung to his waist and elaborate tattoos marking his back. A single stash over his shoulder held all the ammo he needed and he used them well, if the _'thwack'_ of his boomerang against the girl's chest armour was anything to go by.

 _"YARRGH!"_ She was flung up against the wall of the enclosure. Pain burst through the padding on her back and she couldn't regain control of her wings in time. She slipped downwards, three yards, and hit the floor with a painful grunt.

"Focus, Tooth!" he called to her, already preparing for his next attack. "Criminals aren't going to go easy on you."

The young woman picked herself groggily of the floor and to her horror, she found two egg-shaped grenades bouncing towards her.

Quickly coming back to her senses, she flapped her wings, pushing herself off the ground and lifting herself out of the radius of the blast just in time. Her attacker however was still relentless, tossing egg after egg along her flight path. Tooth swooped around the curved roof, desperately seeking some space to make a countermove. The boomerang came flying towards her once again, spinning wildly and threatening before her. She let out a growl of frustration, then swung her sabre up and sliced the projectile through its centre.

"Oh, c'mon!" She heard her opponent groan in annoyance. She glanced down to find that the Australian glaring up at her, his tattooed arms akimbo. "Do you know how it took me to fix the aerodynamics of that thing?"

 _"Less chat! More fight!"_ boomed St. Nicholas's voice through the speaker. He was watching them from the viewing point - a glass room above the training arena that was safe from the battle.

The Aussie super known as The Easter Bunny cricked his neck as he pulled two boomerang off his strap. Flexing his arms back, he swung both simultaneously towards the girl hovering in the air. Tooth deflected one with the blunt of her blade, not breaking it this time, while the other she dodged. She then swept down towards him, yelling as she raised her sabres overhead. Bunny was ready, however, and tossed another egg into her face. The small innocuous object burst into rainbow smoke, filling up her vision and making her lose her opponent.

As she coughed and spluttered, she felt strong arms strike against her own, making her drop her weapons. Before she knew it, she was pinned to the ground, face against the floor. She tried to push herself up, but Bunny held her arm down in a way that made it impossible for her to do so without breaking it.

"You can't beat a martial arts master, mate," she heard him declare smugly.

"Oh, really?" Tooth narrowed her eyes. When the body failed, the mind took over.

"What do you - _hey!_ " She felt Bunny's grip on herself loosen and she wrenched her arm free. As she pushed herself off the ground, she glanced towards the Australian, who was now swarmed by a dozen or so hummingbird-like creatures. He tried to swat them away, but the little fairies were undaunted, zipping around him and nipping against his skin, poking him and making him yelp in terror. "Stop that! Tooth, call them off!"

"Only if you yield," the girl said, grinning at the burly superhero's distress. It was hilarious to see the great martial artist armed with advanced alien technology batting away the tiny fairies as if they were mosquitoes.

"No way!" he spat out, until one sly fairy jabbed him in a particularly sensitive area. "CRIKEY! Fine! I give! You happy, you scheming twerp?"

"Yes, actually." Tooth beamed in triumph. Satisfied now that she had gotten what she wanted, she clapped her hands together. "Alright, girls, you can let the poor rabbit go now."

The little green creatures finally showed mercy to the distressed man, spinning around and flying towards their mistress, who gushed over each one of them with enthusiasm and praise. "You did wonderfully! Oh, no arguments on that! _Tsk, tsk._ You did too!"

Bunny, rubbing himself as if he were a wounded animal, glared at her, then at the fairies. "If all your bird-thingamaches are just part your imagination, aren't you essentially talking to yourself?"

"They're not part of my imagination, Bunny." Tooth rolled her eyes as she started out on what must have been her tenth explanation at least. She gestured at the fairies fluttering around her. "They might be physical projections of my psyche, but I've given them sufficient autonomy such that they have a separate consciousness from me."

The muscular fellow picking up the broken pieces of his weapon made a face, glancing at the little creatures that buzzed around his teammate the way bees buzzed around flowers. "Well, so they're alive?"

"Yes." The girl in the green armour nodded, then after pausing shook her head. "Well, not exactly. They're existence is dependent on my will, I suppose."

Bunny wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "I really don't get how your powers work."

"I don't get how your powers work." She waved an arm at the broken boomerang in his hands.

"I told y'a, Sheila-" he let out a frustrated groan, thumbing the tattoos on his chest "the tattoos are like a _barcode_. The boomerangs are made of this special material that let them _read_ the _barcode_. So, I can control them with my mind. Easy."

"Well, then shouldn't the tattoos just be on your head then? And why on earth can you control the ground sometimes? Is that from your boomerangs, your mind or you?"

The man just gave her withering look. "Look, it's complicated. I don't really get it either."

Side by side, they headed towards the exit. Somewhere along the way, the tiny fairies that surrounded her vanished, for they were no longer needed. The swords she sheathed on by her waists also disappeared, since it was getting a little uncomfortable to carry them in physical form.

Bunnymund didn't comment on this, for he had seen it many times before, so he kept rambling on, his accent getting thicker the faster he spoke, "I was just hiking around the Uluru region one day, like any idiot college dropout who wanted to pretend that he didn't need a real job. Then, I came across an abandoned mine shaft, only that it turned out that it was actually an abandoned hideout left by ancient ETs and _boom!_ I became some tattooed punk with powers beyond my comprehension."

It was the girl's turn to look puzzled. "What's _'ET'_?"

" _ET_ \- you know, _'Extra-Terrestrial'_. That alien movie that was all the rage earlier in the year?"

The arena doors were drawn open by the automated mechanism that North had recently installed, a sight that was still considered a wonder to the residents and staff of the facility. As they entered the corridor, Bunny glanced at his young teammate and saw the blank expression on her face. "You have no idea what I'm talking about."

"I just moved to this country a year ago." Her tone, though polite, had a slightly biting edge to it. "Forgive me if I haven't exactly picked up all the cultural references."

"Hmm." Bunny furrowed his brows together. "Didn't you just pick people's brains to learn English? Why not do the same for the culture-thingy-whatever?" One of the staff on standby handed him a towel and a bottle. "Hey, thanks mate."

"It's not the same. I told you this before," she answered testily, politely shaking her head the same staff offered her the two items. "Culture is a lot more complicated than language. I'll be reading people's brains all the time if I wanted to learn every quirk that Ameripan has."

"Then why don't you?"

"Well, it's a breach of confidentiality, for one." They veered around the corner into the open hallway where various agents strode back and forth, ever in a hurry for another meeting, mission or both. The crowd in the formal uniforms didn't give a glance at the colourfully-dressed duo in their extravagant costumes. "Besides, my mother always warned that poking into other people's memories is a delicate procedure. There can be huge repercussions, you know."

At that moment, one of the agents dubbed Phil greeted them. In his thick Nepalese accent, he told them that St. Nicholas was waiting for them at the war room and urged them to hurry there. The two glanced at each other, then leapt up and dashed down the hall - well, the girl flew, since that was much quicker.

The people around them didn't flinch as they were asked to clear a path, just calmly stepping aside and continuing their own steady journeys to their destination. Things were all very professional in the National Supers Agency, and that had been what impressed Tooth most when they had first invited her to come here.

"I hope it isn't the Dream Pirates again," she heard her companion grumble as they darted around the curved path of the block. "I hate those amoral terrorists."

Up the stairs they went next, down the corridor of offices, and then past the archival department, before finally arriving at the War room. It wasn't actually that different from a regular meeting room, only that it had been sound-proofed triple times so that nothing would leave its walls.

As the doors were drawn shut behind them, the two supers found that their other teammates were all there. The Sandman was standing beside St. Nicholas, his cheerful face bright and welcoming as always, and it seemed to glow with delight at the sight of Bunny and Tooth. The large Russian man himself beamed when he saw them, guffawing heartily. "We are all here! Excellent! And Tooth-" he suddenly looked stern.

The girl tensed up.

Then the large man's expression morphed into a grin. "Excellent work today. You beat Bunny very nicely - yes, very nicely."

Tooth blushed and smiled at the praise her mentor gave her. Her tattooed teammate made an exaggeratedly disgruntled noise through his nose, though it was directed more at St. Nicholas than at her.

"Thank you all for coming. I'm sorry if I've deceived you into believing that there was an emergency." An elderly figure with an oddly youthful face walked towards the group and all attentions were turned to him.

Though she had not known him for long, Tooth already had begun to understand the reverence that was shown to the director of the agency. Director Lunanoff had remarkable enough fortitude enough to bear the burdens of protecting Superhero rights all over Ameripan, but it did not prevent him from getting down to the ground to connect with those under his leadership. Those who had the opportunity of speaking to him was surprised at what a soft-spoken, humble fellow he was, even at his position, and it earned him a great deal of admiration.

The Guardians, of course, held a special place in Director Lunanoff's heart, since he had started the initiative. It had been his goal to create a superhero team that could protect the interests of the world, rather than just Ameripan. Tooth knew, from what Bunnymund told her, that he had faced a great deal of resistance from others in the agency with regards to The Guardians, but he didn't give up on it. _'Everyone needs a hero,'_ Director Lunanoff was quoted to have told the board members of the agency, _'and that includes everyone else outside the borders of our country.'_

"As you know, we have been waiting for the approval of the Ameripanian government to take The Guardians international," he was telling them now. "Other nations, even certain Soviet states, have agreed to give us 'a trial period', so to speak, to carry out our operations in their respective jurisdiction. The limiting factor had been, well, the White House itself. Well, after months and months of red tape, documentation and revisions of rules-"The Director Lunanoff was smiling widely, bright eyes shining behind his round shaped glasses "-Guardians International has gotten the green light."

There were cheers of joy amongst them all. St. Nicholas just inches from jigging all around the room. The Sandman was floating of the ground in his elation, golden figures appearing his head as he expressed his excitement. Bunnymund's moodiness fled his face and he didn't even make a comment when North smacked him on the shoulder. Tooth herself was chortling with glee, her wings beating behind her and lifting her off the ground as she clapped her hands.

"How did you ever get them to change their minds?" the Australian super asked Director Lunanoff as the celebration died down. "

"I didn't," was the surprising answer. "Which is what I've been meaning to tell you all. Gentlemen, and lady-" Director Lunanoff nodded meaningfully at Tooth. He then waved a hand towards the shadows behind him, where stood a figure that none of them had noticed before "-I would like to introduce to you the one who helped us, my old friend General Kozmotis Pitchiner."

"For a second, I thought you had forgotten I was here, Manuel," came the amused voice from the figure. When he stepped into the light, Tooth breathed in his features.

Next to the round, bumbling director, General Pitchiner was a towering, slender column of sharp edges - a chiselled nose, a prominent chin, with hair slicked back to a smooth angle. There was a hardness in his face that told her that it had seen better days, though for one his age he could certainly be considered handsome. The stiff uniform that he was encased in gave him a very dignified appearance, making the rest of them seem horrifically underdressed. Yet as intimidating all this seemed, the smile that appeared on his face radiated genuine amicability.

"Greeting to all of you," he spoke to them with a slight tilt of his head. His posture was a little rigid, but his tone still felt genuine and with a hint of warmth. "It is a great to honour to finally be able to meet The Guardians in person."

"General." St. Nicholas had already stepped forth to take the other man's hand, shaking it heartily. "For what you've done, we are truly in your debt."

"It was my pleasure, Master Nicholas." Tooth detected a hidden flinch from the tall man upon contact with the Russian super, though he was quick to compensate it with a smile. "I admit that at heart, I'm an old-fashioned man with old-fashioned ways. But Manuel is quite convinced that The Guardians could be key spreading Ameripan's goodwill overseas. Who knows?" He shrugged, loosening up the rigid pose. "It might even end this dastardly war for once and for all."

"Now, that's a good thought!" St. Nicholas proclaimed fervidly, thumping the other man in the back in an amicable manner.

"Yes, indeed." The general was trying to hide a wince. Tooth couldn't help but laugh a little. Though St. Nicholas' primary super power was his gift with creation, he was very strong fellow and often forgot that.

Inching away from his well-meaning assailant, General Pitchiner ran his eyes over the other members of the Guardians. "Well, Manuel was quite accurate in his descriptions of you all. You must be The Easter Bunny, though-" he peered at the Australian's tattoos "-I have no idea why that name was chosen."

"It's a long story," was Bunny's gruff answer, tugging against his strap of boomerangs poignantly.

"You must be The Sandman then." The general turned to the small man, who seemed pleased that he was noticed and recognised by name. The two men shook hands, which was a rather comical sight, seeing how much the taller man had to stoop to hold Sandy's hand.

Then the general raised his head towards her, perplexed. "I do not remember anything about a lady on the team, however, and certainly not one as young as this."

"This is the Tooth Fairy, our latest recruit," Director Lunanoff explained to him. Tooth gave him a small nod for a greeting, spreading out her wings behind her so that he could see where she got a name from. "She has been with us for the last two months and has proven herself quite indispensable."

"I see." The general had his eyes still fixed on her, an odd look on his face. Cocking his head slightly to right, he asked her, sounding rather concerned, "Tell, my dear, how old are you?"

"I'm afraid she can't reveal that, Kozmotis," the director interjected smoothly, stepping up next to his friend. "Part of the secret identity regulations."

"I understand," the general said, but his gaze did not leave her. For a moment, Tooth wondered the helmet had did not cover enough of her face. Did the general perhaps recognise her? But she couldn't imagine how a high-up general like him and a foreign high school student like her could ever meet in a day-to-day setting.

Scanning her from head to toe, he observed grimly, "You cannot be more than twenty."

She frowned, creasing her brow. "Sir?"

"Here you are, barely a woman, giving the years of your youth to fighting battles that are beyond your capabilities, serving a cause you barely understand." The words sounded harsh, and she recoiled when she heard them. She saw in the corner of her vision that St. Nicholas tensing up, friendliness melted away. The Sandman was frowning deeply, and his fists were clenched. Bunny's face was blank, but she could see him reaching for his sash, ready to launch out an attack, verbal or physical.

But then - "You remind me of myself."

Tooth blinked.

"Once upon a time, I hadlied about my age to join the army." A small smile curled up the side of the general's mouth. "I was headstrong and idealistic, believing that I could conquer the world with my bare hands." He gazed down at his palms, which Tooth noted had faded scars drawn along them. "I was a fool, of course, but I never regretted what I did. No." He shook his head, looking away now as if at something else - perhaps a memory. "I get nightmares sometimes, terrible ones that I can't scratch out of my skull, but I also have good memories. Ones of people that I have saved. Ones of people dear to me."

As he narrated, Tooth noticed that the general was figuring with a golden chain he had, one attached to his waist pocket. As the chain moved, she spotted a small polished object attached to the end of it. She would have thought it a watch - the old fashion kind - but its oval shape told her that that was unlikely

He was looking at her again, and this time she noticed that the black pupils boring into her had rather unique with a golden flicker in them. "Hold those memories close to you, my dear," he advised her with evident fervour. "When the nightmares come, they'll be your best defence."

Tooth nodded, thinking of all the lessons had her mother had taught of her as she grew up. Memories, she had said, were the most powerful weapon a telepath could ever wield, and the best armour she could ever don. No psychic trick or astral projection could be as strong and real as a memory.

The general clapped her on the shoulder firmly. "You are a brave young woman, my dear. I can tell you for sure – you'll be a fine role model to young girls all over the world."

At that moment, a familiar siren rang in the war room. A screen opened up on the table, alerting them of a new danger. St. Nicholas stepped forward then, for he was the only one out of them who knew how to use the computer interface.

Tapping some commands on the screen, new little boxes appeared. The Russian-born super browsed the data hurriedly, before he informed them, with a mix of graveness and eagerness, "My fellow guardians, it seems we have our first mission abroad."

"What happened?" Bunny asked, craning himself forward to look at the computer himself. He hadn't seen very many before and still found the device to be quite fascinating.

"An unidentified object has crash landed in near the edge of the Antarctic approximately an hour ago, with interesting news." A beeping sound was heard as a map appeared on the screen, before a large red dot marked on the continent near the bottom of the map. A small box popped up next to it, displaying new information. The large man rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Investigators on site has commented that it appears to be a spaceship."

"Aliens," the Australian super breathed out, stunned. The Sandman's eyes had gone as wide as saucers and his mouth hung open. Even the Director looked astonished.

"Like ET." All heads turned towards the girl, who flushed crimson. Stammering, she tried to justify her comment, "Is that ... not the correct cultural reference?"

"Well, it is, more or less." Bunny's offhand remark brought the focus back to the mission, much to Tooth's relief. To other the Guardians, he said, "Well, strap on some layers, mates. We've got to pull ET out of the ice."

* * *

Yeah, he remembered this place alright.

He remembered waking up to bright shining lights flashing in front of him, with colours ranging from blue to purple to red. He remembered being scared at the voices that surrounded him – voices that at that time sounded so foreign and strange that all he had really heard was the voices of panic in his head. He recalled struggling against the binds, screeching and shouting, trying to express feelings in the only tongue he knew, only to find out that he had forgotten the language of his home planet, and almost everything about it. All he could really do was gabble and grunt all any phonetic nonsense his mouth produced. It had just made bizarre experience which had made his frightening arrival to this planet even more frightening and bizarre.

Now, here he was thirty-two years later, back in the same place again, bound up by the same binds in the same supine position and staring up at the same glaring lights. The only difference was that instead of feeling scared, he just felt incredibly annoyed.

"If you're an alien, how come you look like a normal person?"

It was that irritating kid in the red spandex suit – that one who could at unnaturally high speeds. He was also the one who had stolen away his staff during the fight the night before, which placed him in Jack's bad books.

Thankfully – and he'd never thought he use that word while lying down, cuffed from shoulder to ankle - the forcefield that surrounded his narrow prison cell put some distance between himself and the blonde kid outside. But the shimmering burst of purple energy did not keep out the whine of pre-pubescence at its worse.

Jack twisted his neck towards the masked lad, teeth clenched. "Because people from my planet look like people from your planet? I don't know."

"Why don't you know?" the irritating kid immediately put in, before digging his hand into a bag of chips and cramming the unhealthy goodness into his mouth.

"Because I don't _remember_! I've already said this." Whacking his head hard against the backrest of the bed, Jack let out a growl of frustration. In general, he liked kids better than adults, but really, this kid made him want to yank out his hair. Would he ever stop talking?

 _Crunch!_ Even a full-mouth couldn't keep the questions from rolling out."Why don't you remember?"

"Because I had amnesia!" Jack glared at the boy through narrowed lids. "Don't you have anything better to do than annoy me all day?"

"It's spring break. That, and I've got a lot of free time to kill before my next mission," was the shrugging answer as the boy poured a handful of chips on his gloved palm. There was a five second break, before – "So, why do you have amnesia?"

"Well, how would I know?" Oh, how he wanted to squash that little twerp! But the binds were fastened too tight and something in the cell didn't let him use his powers. Without his staff, he wouldn't have been able to channel it properly, anyway. "Maybe sometime happened to my brain during the journey through space. I don't know! I had amnesia about why I had amnesia!"

"Can't you fix it?"

He was _this close_ to spilling every expletive that he had learned during his stay on this planetthis planet – _this close!_ – but that question caught him off guard. "What?"

"I mean, you lived through the Golden Age of Supers, right?" the boy explained in between munching his corn-crisp morsels. "Wouldn't you have at least met one super who could fix your problem?"

That was actually a legitimately good question, and the older boy ( _much, much_ older boy) strapped to the bed had to ponder for a moment or two. Even after the answer came to him, he was not so sure if he wanted to say it out loud.

"One of my friends was a really powerful telepath. She did try to help me," Jack said slowly, his eyes trained forward instead of towards the lad. "But it never worked. She couldn't even read my mind, because I-I-I-"

His head dipped downwards and the old disappointment that he had locked away over the years came tumbling out, like an unwanted belonging that he didn't want to remember he owned.

"-I was too different. Like her human mind couldn't click with my alien one, or something like that." He tried to shrug, and found he couldn't with his upper arms bolted to the bed. Exasperation rose back up in full force and managed to numb the pain for a while.

He never really noticed that someone else had entered the room until an elderly man in a grey suit appeared before them. The years had not been kind to him, if the wrinkles were anything to go by, and cynicism had granted his gaze a worn look. He peered down to the boy in the spandex suit with a raised brow, making the costumed kid freeze in his spot.

"Um," the blonde boy stuttered, hand caught in his bag of his chips, "I was-"

The bushy brows were raised higher.

"-I'll just go," he finished awkwardly. In a poof, the boy in the red suit vanished, leaving a chilly gust in his wake.

The old fellow in the stern suit however was unfazed by this occurrence, turning his attention to the detainee behind the force field. Adjusting the spectacles on his nose, he spoke directly to Jack, "Well, Mr. Frost, you're looking well."

Jack looked blankly at him.

"You do not recognise me. I suppose I cannot blame you." The old man sighed, before removing his glasses and wiping them with his handkerchief. "It was ten years ago and we didn't exactly meet on pleasant terms."

A memory stirred at the back of Jack's mind and clarity formed itself as he tried to place the aged face. Squinting at the man, who was undoubtedly an agent for the organisation, the boy guessed, "You're that relocation guy?"

The man chuckled dryly. "Well, at least you remember what I did."

"Wow, you look really different." Jack scanned him critically. "Your hair's gotten really white."

"And yours has – well-" the elder man cleared his throat meaningfully as he nodded towards Jack's brown locks.

The boy peered at the coloured strands and blew an annoyed puff at them. "I assure you this is completely temporary."

"It might not be a poor choice to keep it dyed, Mr. Frost." The man drew a table and chair closer up to the confinement cell, before seating himself down. With him in closer proximity, Jack spotted the name on the agent's tag – 'Rick Dicker'. He snorted a little. That last name was slightly unfortunate. "It might make it easier for you to blend in, as Nitya Kadni would have wanted you to."

"Well, Tooth means well, but she doesn't always-" then he broke himself off, his eyes widening as he realised what he had just revealed. His spun sharply to Agent Dicker, who just went _'hmmph, interesting'_ , then scribbled something into his clipboard.

The boy's mouth hung open for a while, speechless. Then he swallowed, asking timidly, "Um, she's not going to get in trouble, is she…?"

"What happens to Dr. Kadni is none of your concern, Mr. Frost – I hope you don't mind me calling you that, since you have no other name. I do think you have enough on your plate as it is. Such as, explaining -" the man stared pointedly at him "- your return to Burgeshima though you had been explicitly forbidden to do so in light of the events on the August fourth, 2005."

Jack groaned, wishing that he could sink himself into the bed and never come out again. He hated it every time this topic resurfaced, but like weeds in the backyard, it popped out _everywhere_. "It wasn't my fault."

"I understand that accidents can happen, Mr. Frost, and I do not doubt that you meant well, but-"

"No, you don't get it, Mr. Dicker-"

"Please call me Rick," the agent told him with a pained expression. "That last name has been the bane of my existence."

"-Rick. Fine-" Jack tried to sit himself up, but was reminded abruptly of the strap over his torso that held him down to the bed. Talking while essentially lying down was not at all a comfortable experience "-I did not cause the collapse of the Black Raven Hotel. I have told you guys a billion times that my powers don't work like that, but you all still don't believe me."

"I really want to take your side for this, Mr. Frost-"

"I'm calling you Rick, so you should call me Jack."

"-Jack, but the fact is that dozens witnessed the hotel freezing over before subsequently crumbling down, and you were the only cryokinetic seen in the vicinity. Like it or not, the blame falls on you."

The boy scowled, muttering, "This is stupid."

"Considering that your contribution to Ameripan with the Guardians was actually rather short, the amount of money that went into your relocation and integration processes are actually quite generous, and they're out of taxpayers' money, mind you." The man placed the clipboard down, leaned back into his chair and considered the young-looking alien trapped in the containment cell. "You've been given quite a few chances to live a normal life, of which you sabotaged on all occasions."

"For good reasons," Jack added bitingly, but the agent glossed over it.

"Your behaviour had several officials within the White House and the Agency wondering if your unique … _origins_ has led you to believe that you are above the laws of the land – _our_ land."

"Did you make Metroman chant the 'Sun-Spangled Banner' before you called him your hero?" the boy murmured crossly.

"Metroman-" the agent pushed his glasses up, looking quite a little exasperated "-had proved his trustworthiness to the people over and over, which is why he continues to be honoured long after his death - and after the Anti-hero Act, even. Anyway, Metroman was raised from a young age according to our ways. _You_ , on the hand, arrived here as a full-grown alien with dangerous powers, which has caused destruction on multiple occasions, with insufficient evidence of trying suppress them. I'm not going to lie-" wrinkles deepened into his forehead "-your departure from Ameripan in 2005 brought much relief."

The boy snorted.

"The question is, then, why have you returned?"

Jack sucked in a deep breath, trying to will himself to not lose his temper. It was good thing they had some kind of power-cancelling power in here, otherwise he would have turned this whole place into some winter wonderland by now, with all the emotional roller-coaster.

"After the whole thing with The Incredibles, I thought that Supers would come out of hiding." He rapped his fingers against the hard backing of the bed as he spoke, "I thought Burgeshima would go back to how it was and I thought I could help. And then I did come back, and found that not only were things hadn't improved, they're getting worse and-" his blue eyes could have burned through the skull of the agent by the intensity of the glare "-the government is _still_ not doing anything about it."

"Just because you can't see the changes now doesn't mean that we're not handling the situation," Agent Rick answered defensively.

"Then why is Pitch is still running the city? Then why are gangs running all over the place and random people getting hurt all the time? _Huh_?" In his vindictiveness, he pulled against the binds so hard that he could feel the metal cutting into his skin, but Jack didn't care. "Why are you letting some murderous serial killer go all 'crazy-vigilante' out there while you lock _me_ – a real, down-to-earth, well-meaning alien – up?" Jack jerked his chin challengingly at the agent. "How on earth is that 'handling the situation'?"

"Jack Frost." For such a genial looking fellow, the man did have severe tone, and the use of his full name – his earth-given full name, at least – made the boy straighten up. He removed his glasses once again, wiped them with the handkerchief methodically, then replaced them as they were. Looking up at the boy, he said slowly, almost softly, "The National Supers Agency is _not_ your enemy. We are trying to help."

"Oh, yeah." The boy made a disparaging sound at the back his throat. He nodded hatefully at his constraints. "You put all your best buddies in prison, hey?"

"I am serious, Jack." Agent Rick certainly bore no sign of jest on his countenance. "If you were apprehended by the special forces, or the marines, I can promise you that you'd be in a worse state than you are now. As small as they were, we value your contributions our country. But even so, we can only protect you so much. We answer first to the government, after all."

As much as he wanted to pretend he didn't care, Jack knew that the agent was right. He had never been very popular with political figures as some supers had been, and the black marks that he had on his records didn't make it any better. People were just sitting on egg shells waiting for him to explode into a blizzard or something.

"There are people in Burgeshima who still remember the collapse of the Black Raven Hotel, Jack. People who have lost family, friends, _assets_ -" Agent Rick listed grimly "-and some of those people have the means to take you on. We've covered up for you thus far, but if you're caught on the spot and they push a case against you, there's nothing we can do. The NSA cannot interfere publicly."

A weighted pause followed the foreboding words and the bound prisoner bit his lip, thinking over the words while staring up at blinking lights. A quiet rasp emerged from his lips, "What do you want from me?"

Agent Rick reached into his coat for a small device, producing what appeared to controller. When he pressed a button on it, Jack suddenly felt the metallic coils holding him down slide away, sinking into the inside of the chair. He immediately scrambled off the platform to his feet, catching his balance in time before his body slammed against the humming forcefield. Casting a distasteful look towards to the source of his old chains, he faced the agent with questioning expression.

The elder man then removed a brown file from his clipboard, dropping it on the table near the cell. The flaps were opened up so that Jack could see its contents. There was a birth certificate, with a stated date that would have put him around twenty-three years. Behind it was a passport, with the Canadian emblem printed on its cover, and Agent Rick flipped it open so that he could see his own photograph fitted in on the front passage, with all the numbers and printings that screamed its authenticity. Behind them were clipped certificates of a degree he had never acquired, a deed of a house he had never bought and a bank statement of money he had never earned.

"Leave Ameripan," the agent told him solemnly, "and never come back."

The boy stooped himself down to scrutinise the documents, careful not to touch the force-field as he did. He asked cautiously, "And if I don't agree to this?"

"Well, I don't like making threats, and I'd hate to make them now." Agent Rick's jaw tightened. "But I do know for a fact that there's a cell in Area 51 with your name on it."

Jack allowed himself a wane smile while massaging his stiff arms. "Do you do this to all the cryokinetics you come across, or am I just that lucky?"

Then the smile slipped from his face as a thought slapped him in the head: _Cryokinetics._ How many exactly were there in Ameripan?

Well, there was that ice-spurting hero from Metroville, wasn't there? Frozen-cone, or Fro-yo, or some silly name like that. There was no way that guy would have been responsible for the collapse of Black Raven Hotel though. Burgeshima was way, way, way too far from Metroville. Nope, that guy was out of the question.

But there was already another cryokinetic in Burgeshima. With the mask hiding her face, she could easily be in her thirties for all he knew, so she could have been around ten years ago. He had seen how her powers worked – precise, controlled, crystallized and centred. Not like his – raw, wild, electrical-even. Turning a single structure like a hotel building into complete ice – that was not how his powers worked. But he had seen how she had formed a wall of ice to stop the bullets, just with the flick of her wrist.

It fit together too perfectly.

"If I could prove – and I mean 'if' – that I wasn't responsible the collapse of the Black Raven Hotel," Jack said, watching the agent's face for a reaction, "would you guys get off my back?"

Agent Rick looked at him quizzically. "Well, I suppose it would earn some points back in your favour."

"Then give me a chance, because I think I can."

* * *

"Pretty neat place, huh?"

They were sitting at the agency cafeteria, eating cake and drinking coffee – well, hot chocolate for Rapunzel, because she wasn't allowed caffeine yet - swinging their legs from the bar stools as if they were in some artisan street café instead of a top secret government facility. The other patrons of the cafeteria, with attire ranging from suits to uniforms to casual wear, paid them no mind, much too absorbed in their lattes and their laptops. The design of the cafeteria had a sleek, streamlined vibe about it, granting the space an atmosphere of comfort and classiness.

"Very," the brunette girl agreed as she sipped her steaming drink. Her chameleon companion, who had been returned to her prior to them stopping by the cafeteria, ran down her arm towards the table, moving towards the saucer of her cup. Pascal was apparently transfixed by the marshmallow sitting daintily there, and he looked at Rapunzel pleadingly.

The girl laughed. "Alright, go ahead, Pascal."

The chameleon happily stuck his tongue out and swiped the squishy treat off the saucer, gobbling it up with such delight that his human companion could not help but giggle once more. The girl on the other end of the table sipping on her ice-blended frappe _(low fat milk, less sugar, double-shot)_ observed the scene with a questioning expression.

"So," UV said in what was meant to be a casual manner, but sounded more queasy, "you talk to animals."

"Not really, well, I don't really know," admitted Rapunzel, scratching the little reptile along his spine, making him purr with appreciation. "I mean, I do talk to Pascal, but I don't really think of him as an animal. And I never really tried talking to other animals – excepts humans! But I guess that's not really what you meant by-" she became acutely aware that perhaps she had spoken for a bit too long "-animals?"

Fortunately, the costumed girl didn't seem to mind. "Heh, well, never though of it that way. You've got an interesting way of thinking." Sticking a fork into her banana cake _(gluten-free, vegetarian, free-trade ingredients only)_ , she questioned, "So, have you been in it long?"

"Been in what?" She couldn't help feeling a little alarmed by the way it was phrased.

"Hero-work, you know."

"Oh." Rapunzel let out an inward sigh of relief. She was afraid that her fellow super _(A fellow super! Just think of that!)_ was going ask about school, or college, or some other life experience that she didn't actually have. "Well, I think it's been about six months by now?" Pascal shook his head at that, so she amended, "Seven months now."

"All on your own? Cool. Wish my mum would let me do that." UV slipped the cake into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"Well…" Rapunzel started toying with her napkin "-my mother doesn't exactly, well, let me do most of the stuff I'm doing." Noting UV's surprised expression, she added, shame-facedly, "She, well, she didn't exactly let me go to Burgeshima."

UV's jaw almost hit the table. "What?"

"Yeah, I, erm, kind of, err, did it without her permission." The napkin wrung in her grip had to break apart breaking apart. "Yeah."

"So you decided to go to some crime-soaked city without your mother's permission," the other girl summarised, looking a little confused. "Why? It's not as if Burgeshima's your responsibility in the first place."

"Well, you know," Rapunzel said quickly, "there was the bombing at San Fransokyo, and people say 13 did it, and I felt that it was my duty as a hero of Korobe to find out why he did it and if this is a threat to my city." She realised how lame it sounded after it left her mouth.

UV certainly thought so too, if the way she raised her brow and dragged out a "Reeeeal-ly?" was anything to go by.

Rapunzel bit the inside of her cheek, twisting the tearing napkin uneasily between her palms. Finally, she said hesitantly, "Korobe ... doesn't really need me. The police force can handle things most of the time. I usually get like a few pickpockets and a couple of burglars, and maybe some thugs that got a little to rowdy. And that's _it_. I'm not being-" she had turned to stirring the remaining chocolate in her cup to keep her hands occupied "- _challenged_ enough. It's like I have all this _power_ inside of me-" and I'm not doing all I could do. It doesn't help that Mother's always so-" without meaning to, her voice actually lowered, gaining a resentful edge "-discouraging about me being a hero."

Pascal nuzzled her hand gently, trying to comfort her. She smiled slightly at his valiant efforts, but it was disappeared soon after.

"I want to be like her – I really do," she found herself confessing to the other girl. "I mean, who wouldn't want to be as great a hero as their parent?"

She looked at UV expectantly, to which the girl made a teetering shoulder motion that communicated _'somewhat'_.

"I just want to be as great a hero as the _Matahari_ was, with all the adventures and the victories and the saved people. I want to make a difference, but Mother thinks-" some of the chocolate spilt out when she stirred too hard. She forced herself to stop, to put the spoon down and hunch forward over the dismal mess she had made "-Mother thinks I'll never be good enough. This-this whole trip to Burgeshima?" She sucked in breath and sat up straight. "This is – was a chance for me solve a _real_ problem, to fight a _real_ problem, to, be, well, a _rea_ _l_ hero." She scooped back a stray brown strand behind her ear, sighing as her gaze turned downwards. "Not that I'm doing that great so far."

"Hey. I get it." The kind tone gave her the courage to lift her head. The girl in black mask swept her silky black hair over her shoulder, before continuing," I know what it's like to live in your parent's shadow. I mean – have you seen my parents?" She made a _'phish'_ sound, widening her eyes dramatically. "They're incredible, and not just because of the name. They always know what to do, how to do it, when to do it. They're really great heroes and there's a lot that I can learn from them."

"But, well-" UV shrugged "-as long as I'm in Metroville, I'm not going get to full exposure of being a hero. I'm not going to know what it's like not to have a fall-back plan - to not have my parents' support. My parents get really protective sometimes, especially my _mum_ -" she rolled her eyes "-and I know they mean well, but I can't keep hiding behind them. That's kind of why I'm away from Metroville during the break. I want to explore – spread my wings-" UV flapped her hands for emphasis "-work for the government a bit, and get a new name."

"UV. Ultra-violet," Rapunzel mused, as the girl's words sunk into her mind. "Why pick that name?"

"Well, UV light is invisible to the human eye, so that kind of fits me," the black-haired girl explained with a grin as she dug into her cake. " _Annnd_ there's one other reason, but I can't tell you. Not until I get approval for it, anyw-"

"Sorry that I'm late," a smooth voice sliced in. Both girl looked towards its source. A woman with long white hair and dark skin smiled down at them, her emerald eyes gleaming in a way that was both alluring and disturbing. "I had a meeting earlier and there were too many things that needed to be discussed then." The bright eyes then flicked towards the brunette.

"Oh, oh, Rapunzel." UV scrambled to her feet, excitedly waving her gloved hand to the taller woman. "This is my mentor, M. M, this is Rapunzel."

"M for Mirage - we use code outside of the HQ," the woman explained upon seeing the brunette's confused expression. "I'm part of the Covert Operations Division. Been here five years. How do you do?"

She offered her hand out, and Rapunzel took it. she was surprised by the firm grip the other woman had.

"Fine, thanks," was all the girl managed to squeak out, feeling oddly relieved when she finally got her hand back. There was something about Mirage that made her uneasy. Maybe it was how incredibly confident the woman seemed, or perhaps it was the taunting glint in her gaze.

"I hope UV managed to explain to you to some extent to why you're here," Mirage said, pulling a chair over briskly and seating herself at the table.

Running through all the subjects that they covered through their conversation, Rapunzel confessed, "Actually, we didn't really talk about it."

"Well, that's fine. I might be able to explain it better anyway." The woman twisted her chair around such that she could cross her legs over one another, allowing her to better balance the digipad on her lap. She pressed her two palms against each other, beginning emphatically, "The most important thing that I want you to know, Rapunzel, is that you're not in any trouble."

A part of her that she didn't know had been tensed now relaxed. "That's good to know."

"You hadn't been our primary target yesterday night," Mirage continued on. "The operation had been carried out with the sole purpose of capturing your companion, Jack Frost, and you just happened to be in the way. There wasn't exactly time to explain matters to you at the moment, so we just took you along. I'm sorry if this had alarmed you."

"It's okay, but you guys wanted to capture-" Rapunzel scrunched her face up "- _Jack Frost_? Why?"

"Let's say that he somewhat of a-" she paused to think of suitable word "-fugitive. You were quite young when it happened-" noting Rapunzel's shocked expression "-so you probably don't remember what he did. We have agents dealing with him at the moment, so don't you worry about that."

Before the girl could inquire further on what had become of the ice-powered hero, Mirage had already carried on, "Now, just because you're not in trouble doesn't mean that you won't be, at some point."

"What do you mean?" Rapunzel was confused.

"Here at the NSA, we strive to protect heroes as far as possible, but we are still accountable to the law and by extension, the government. By right, the Anti-Hero Act is still in place across Ameripan. By 'left' – so to speak - there is disparity in the extent to which is enforced. In Metroville, the Anti-Hero Act has been almost completely ignored for the last five years." A nod from UV confirmed this. "Recently, some leeway has also been granted to the city of San Fransokyo, though there is some debate about whether the Big Hero 6 is actually counts as supers, considering their abilities are all technologically-derived." Mirage made a disgruntled face, before moving on. "In Korobe, on the other hand, -"

"-the police don't try very hard to catch me?" the brunette cut in, then realised how rude that was. "Oh, I'm _so, so_ sorry. I didn't mean to, um, please carry on."

"-I was going to say-" Mirage seemed slightly amused by her slip-up "-that's why in Korobe, the police budget doesn't cover enforcement of the Act extensively and its police Chief has other priorities, so you have a relatively easier time evading the authorities compared to other supers your age."

Rapunzel was not sure if this was meant to be a good thing or bad thing, so she just murmured, "O-kay."

"Well, that and you're not really considered a threat to the public."

It sounded like they didn't think she was powerful enough to be a threat. That was … a good thing? "O-kay."

"In Burgeshima, however, things are far more complicated." Mirage drew up closer as she elaborated, "I think by now you'd have learned Burgeshima's criminal world is full of all kinds of knots and twists, connecting them to an unprecedented amount of power. The NSA has been trying to unravel it for years, but progress is slow." The white-haired woman let out a tensed exhale. "Intelligence work in the area is both tedious and dangerous. Less than a tenth of the agents that we deploy there return alive. Which is why, I hope you understand, we're extremely wary when dealing with Burgeshima."

"I'm sorry, um, M'am," Rapunzel stammered, struggling to wrap her head around all the information that had just been blasted at her, "but what are you trying to say?"

"Basically, Burgeshima is too dangerous a city for a girl like you to go in alone, even with your enhanced abilities."

And just that sentence alone was enough to strike Rapunzel's ire. It sounded just like what Mother would say.

"M'am, I know you mean well," the girl began forming her defence, but Mirage held a hand to stop her.

"I'm absolutely serious about this, Rapunzel." The unusually green eyes flashed at her. It did occur to the girl that if the snow-coloured hair and the viridescent irises were part of the woman's natural appearance, she couldn't possibly normal – _could she?_ "The Nightmare Yakuza, especially, has tight relations with the judiciary body in Burgeshima. From what I know of their leader, he's extremely vindictive when it comes to dealing with superheroes. Using the Anti-hero Act is not beyond him, and when that happens, there is absolutely nothing that we at NSA can do for you."

"So, you're saying that," Rapunzel said slowly, "the _bad guy_ would use _the law_ to get rid of the _good guy_?"

"Pretty much, yes," the woman confirmed.

"That's terrible!" Disgusted on every contour of her face, but from what she had witnessed during her time in the crime-ridden city, Rapunzel didn't know why she was even surprised.

"Which is why it's for the best that you do not return to the city." Though it was phrased as a suggestion, Mirage's tone left no room for argument.

Still, Rapunzel tried to explain. She couldn't go back now – not without a small victory, or further progress in finding up what 13 was up to. She was not prepared to face Mother's wrath like this! And how was she going to explain how she lost the motorcycle? "But-but I-I-"

"You lack the experience and, to be frank, the ability to do anything substantial, Rapunzel," the agent cut her off, rising from the seat. Her mentee, who appeared rather astonished by the turn of events herself, imitated her actions, though she kept shooting concerned looks at the other girl. "We already have people on the ground handling the situation, so please don't involve yourself in it. It will only mess thing up. UV-" glancing up her mentee, who quickly straightened herself up "-see that she gets onto her ride. It should be here in-" Mirage glanced at her watch "-four hours. Korobe's quite a drive away, I suppose."

"I have a ride?" Rapunzel exclaimed, tucking Pascal into her pocket as she too rose to her feet.

"Yes." Mirage informed her with a note of finality. "Your mother wants to see you home herself."

* * *

 _Gone for class. Took Sophie to hers. See you later!_

And that was all an explanation she got for his disappearance last night.

Tooth ripped it the note of the refrigerator and crunched it up before tossing it in the trash bin. That boy would be the end of her.

Then she thought about her other, older ward, who was running around who knows where with target painted on his back. And there was also her old flame-colleague-teammate, up to who knows what.

Tooth poured herself an especially steep cup of tea and swallowed it down, trying to distract herself with the bitter tang. She then looked down at the newspaper sitting on the dining table and almost choked.

" _CRIMINAL AT LARGE,"_ the letters blared in her vision. In smaller print, it detailed, _"The ice-powered vigilante, Jack Frost, was spotted wreaking havoc in the south-eastern district of Burgeshima. Eyewitnesses have confirmed his identity through accurate descriptions of his blue hood and his staff. Authorities had pursued the law-breaker down to the Tsukareta Street before he unleashed a deadly snowstorm to make his escape, injuring several officers and damaging public property. Anyone with information on this criminal is advised to inform the police or call this number below…"_

The Yakuza pulling strings on the press again, as usual.

She couldn't even be bothered to read whatever else the paper had. It too found its way into the trash bin.

Tooth left the apartment approximately ten minutes after washing up and retouching her make-up. As she climbed down the stairs of the depilated flat, she couldn't help reminiscing of the time she had moved in here. Seven years ago, wasn't it? She had been evicted from her larger home after not being able to pay the rent – a situation she had never expected to need to face as a professional with a stable income and good business. But that had come about, of course, when fate deemed that it would be her clinic that was attacked. Now, the clinic had been rebuilt, she got her job back and was the guardian of two lovely children. She couldn't be happier.

Tooth sighed. If she could write a book about all the thoughts that went through her head these days, it would be called, _'Lying to Yourself 101, Featuring Suppressing Depression.'_

Moving out of the creaky yellow door and making sure that she had it locked, Tooth climbed down the stairs. Just as her foot hit the pavement, she noticed a glossy-black stretch limousine stopped less than ten steps away from her. Behind and in front of the limo were two lines of motorcycles, armed guards seated on all of them. Their rigid poses screamed vigilante and threat. An attendant wearing a suit that probably cost as much as her yearly rent greeted her, " _Ohayou gozaimasu_ , Kadni- _sensei_."

He pulled the door open expectantly. She knew that she didn't have a choice but to climb into the vehicle.

As auto-lock clicked behind her, Tooth adjusted herself uneasily on the black leather seat, a sense of foreboding building in her stomach. The long length that was the interior of the luxury car was brimming with shadows. By the way the windows were tinted and their curtains were drawn, it was no surprise, but she could not help but feel the darkness was not drawn from the ordinary absence of light.

"I know this visit seems out of place. I hope I haven't alarmed you too greatly," a clear voice rang out in the stillness as the vehicle began to move.

Tooth almost jumped when she managed to place the source of the voice in the darkness. The countenance of the _Kumicho_ of the Nightmare Yakuza had not changed much since she last set eyes on it.

She quickly lowered her head, as if in reverence but actually to hide her shaking lips, folded her hand in front of her, as if in respect actually to hide her trembling hands. " _Kumicho-sama_."

"Dr. Kadni." He greeted in return. Pitch waved a bony hand towards the bar that had been installed to the side. "Please help yourself."

"Thank you for your generosity, but I don't think I should be drinking before work," she answered, not quite daring to meet his gaze. Tooth forced herself to let out a quiet exhale. Inwardly, she had already begun to quiet build up the psychic front. She pushed in front her basest fears – her work, the children, about Flynn even. Hopefully, if he looked into her mind, he would just take that was all that there was to her and keep from digger deeper, where the real secrets were.

"On a Sunday?" Though her eyes were focused on her own hands, she could hear the amused smile in his tone. He let out a low chuckle. "No rest for you, Doctor?"

"I suppose not, _Kumicho-sama_ ," she answered, wondering what all this could be about. She hadn't spoken to Pitch face to face for two whole years after the time the Bennetts had been murdered and the children had entered her care. Yet he was, talking to her in such careless, casual manner that one could have almost imagined that they would be friends. "I have a lot of patients to cover."

And perhaps they had been, for a time that had ended too soon.

She heard him chuckle. "Oh, I understand completely. My wife was, in a sense, a workaholic too." When Tooth lifted her head, she noticed the glass that he swirled nonchalantly in his hand, filled with a dark-red liquid that shouldn't be consumed this early in the morning. He went on, "She was very fixated about her work - I could barely tear her away from it sometimes. But I didn't blame her." He peered down at the wine, pressing his lips together. "It's a good distraction, I suppose."

Tooth nodded, for that was the politest course of action, but in her head, she was layering her defenses and praying that they would hold.

"You're probably wondering why I've come down to see you this morning," Pitch drawled on, and it occurred to her that for all his laidback mannerisms and the alcohol, he was very much astute. Part of her could sense a stirring turmoil in his mind, but she daren't probe lest she give herself away. "Well-" he shrugged indifferently, "-there isn't much of one. I just felt like it." He took a sip of his drink and his expression soured. Holding the glass to his eyes, he muttered ruefully, "1995. A good year, but still tastes dreadful."

 _1995._ The year the government finally gave into the fearful public and passed the bill for the Anti-hero Act. To be honest, she didn't have as much to lose as the others did when it happened. Her powers had, after all, already been stolen two years prior.

By a supervillain.

Who was also the owner of this particular limousine.

"I'm an old-fashioned man, Doctor," he sighed as he set the glass back onto the bar. "A bit of conservative, if I have to admit it fully. I do welcome progress and new ideas, but never at the cost of old ones. That's the problem about the younger generation now. They don't have a set of non-comprisable values, and if they do, they're founded poorly." He adjusted his dark robes, over his arms, frowning pointedly. "Call it backward, if you want, but at least I know why I believe in what I and why I do what I do. I have a standard by which I measure myself and the world." With a twitch of his wrist, a spiral of black sand detached itself from the larger shadowy fabric that hung over the interior of limousine, swimming towards his outstretched palm.

At the sight of it, Tooth gasped, then quickly covered her mouth. She hoped with all her might that he hadn't noticed it. The last thing she wanted to do was offend the Nightmare King while trapped in an enclosed space with him.

As the sand danced lithely over his finger tips, Pitch resumed his spoken reverie, quite absorbed in it, "I value many things – tradition, accountability, meticulousness, order, fortitude-" he clenched his fist suddenly, shocking the sand to fly in different directions, silently melding back into the sleeping shadows as if they had never left, "- _loyalty_."

She held her breath, stomach tensing and shoulders stilled. A part of her that she didn't know still existed began to mentally plot out possible escape routes. The windows, though probably bullet proof, would no doubt break if she struck them with sufficient force. She was still small enough to fit through the gap. At the speed that the limo was going at, she was bound to get several bruises, and maybe a concussion, but she would survive.

But even if she did manage to pull off this James Bond-esque escape plan, she knew that it wouldn't take long for him to catch up with her. He was still stronger of the two of them.

"I have no tolerance for traitors, Doctor. I have no tolerance for rebellion, slander and conspiracy against _my_ authority."

The gold flicker in his irises seemed to brighten as his face hardened. He wasn't looking at her directly, but she could see it from the reflection on the window pane. A chill crawled down her spine and she began to seriously considering smashing the side window. The NSA would have to find another agent

"After all I've done, you'd think people would be more grateful. But what do I get instead? _Betrayal_." A barking laugh, full of bitterness and resentment. "I might be old-fashioned, but I'm not stupid. I know when I've been wronged"

Part of her wanted to know how he had found out, while another part of her just wanted to get away from here. There was also, however, a tiny fragment of her old soul that wanted to confront him once and for all, to end the battle that they had started fourteen years ago.

"Which why I'm glad that I have people like you amongst us."

Tooth startled. _What?_

"People like you are the sutures to the rotten wound that is today's society." The small upturn of his thin lips was actually directed at her – _at her!_ Tooth begun to seriously consider that this might be some kind of hoax, or perhaps a trap to draw out traitors and spies. "Hardworking, unassuming individuals who don't ask for much other than stability and safety. The quiet heroes who save the day through the most ordinary of ways. Yes-" he leaned back into his seat, nodding approvingly at her "-the world could do with more people like you and not-" he broke himself off while staring out of the window.

Tooth glanced outside at the bright Sunday world of Burgeshima, but there was nothing out of the ordinary there, just shop owners setting their stores up for business along the central street, garbage collectors going down the road with cigarettes between their teeth and an old fellow on a crutch shaking his empty at the passer-bys. She couldn't possibly imagine what had caught his attention.

She heard him let out a breath, frowning deeply as he did. "There was once a bright young fellow I had met who remarkable talent. He was born on the wrong side of town though. By right, he should have never had the opportunity to reach his full potential. I intervened, of course." His matter-of-fact manner was a false veil of self-righteousness. "I personally ensured that his education expenses were fully covered and that he had all the necessary connections he needed to succeed. And succeed, he did. He became one of wealthiest men in the country, worth – how much was it?" Pitch murmured to himself as he struggled to recall. " _65.9 billion USD,_ if I'm not wrong."

"But good deeds seldom go unpunished, I suppose," Pitch sneered, cracking his knuckles so loudly that she wondered at how the bony fingers hadn't snapped. "Outwardly, he welcomed me, because what else could he do? But behind my back, he schemed against the Yakuza and sought my demise. Over the years, you'd think with the number of enemies I've had, I'd have gotten used to it. But-" a bitter expression twisted onto his countenance "-apparently not. Betrayal is something I never let go easily." One of his hands had clenched itself as he said, the forced of the action so strong that she felt the car shake.

On instinct, she grabbed the handrail, her lungs robbed breath. When the cabin steadied, she let it go. Though wisdom told her to hold her tongue, Tooth asked all the same, "What will you do to him?"

"Do? Nothing. I've already done what needs to be done." There was a triumphant spark in his eye as he said, taunting and gloating, making her wish suddenly that she did not ask it. "Justice has been served. Dues have been paid. But-" his face darkened "-the damage is done. My pride has been wounded. My trust has been broken." He scowled. "It is a difficult and lonely thing to live a state of distrust. I wouldn't recommend it - if you can afford it, that is."

Eventually, the limousine drew to a stop. "I believe we've arrived at your workplace, Dr. Kadni," he announced, sounding oddly tired now. "I would to chat longer, but you have your duties to attend to, I imagine, and I have mine."

Having sat so still for so long, Tooth had a bit of trouble summoning her muscles to function again. Still, her eagerness to remove herself gave her the strength to pull her weight off the seat.

Before she could step out of the cabin, however, Pitch said to her, "I know this might sound odd to you, Dr. Kadni, but I hope this won't be the last of the conversations we might have."

' _What conversation?'_ Tooth thought sullenly. How many words had she said compared to him? Out loud, she only said, "Oh."

"For some reason that I cannot place, I feel like I have a … connection with you." His brows raised themselves questioning at the notion, before a more placid countenance straightened them out. "I look you forward to seeing tonight at the gala."

"And I look forward to going, _Kumicho-sama_ ," she answered, with a bow. Of course she had to go. The NSA wasn't going to let her miss this opportunity to rub elbows with the deadliest gang in the state.

"Call me Pitch, my dear," he corrected her with a hint of a smile. "I do hope that we might be friends." He made a derisive noise. "I seem, after all, to lack many worthy ones."

After the limousine drove off, Tooth was slightly alarmed to note that some of the people walking along the road had to stopped to stare. The minute she glanced their way though, those watched hurriedly resumed their journey, all too eager to pretend that they had not seen whose limo she had just alighted from. They knew that no good came to do who offended the Yakuza, even with just a harmless stare.

A sickened sensation ran up her gullet as she pushed open the glass door of her clinic. The patients had been waiting for their morning appointments did not greet her back when she smiled at them, and it occurred to her that through the transparent front, they too had witnessed her alighting the glossy black limo. Even without trying to peek into their heads, she already knew what they were thinking. The sickened sensation churning in her worsened.

Tooth was only too happy to retreat into the consultation room for a moment of solace, but it would not be for long. Eventually, she would have to see her patients, fix teeth, make small talk and pretend that she wasn't actually boiling inside.

' _I do hope that we might be friends.'_

She was fuming. The fear that had clouded her mind before was gone now, replaced with raw anger. How _dare_ he presume so much? How _dare_ he suggest that they be _friends_ – as if one as despicable, as revolting as _Pitch Black_ could endeavor to be a person she could hold dear?

Not in a hundred – no, a million – years would she ever forgive him.

' _It was just part of the cover,'_ her rational side reasoned with her. _'Just pretend, get the necessary information and leave it as that. It doesn't need to be real.'_

Except that everyone thought it was. She hated this – hated this association with that _terrorist_ \- that _barbarian of kingpin_. No doubt people thought of her that lady dentist who was with the Nightmare King, probably imagining the most indecent possible form of relationship between them. They probably thought her the same ass every other corrupt, double-standard gangster who could have them killed if they so much as insulted her dress colour. Even Jack…

Her heart sank as she recalled the disappointment in his face.

…Jack, someone dear enough to her to be worthy of the title of 'friend', thought her as one of Pitch's people. And he had used to think so highly of her in the past.

A flurry of worry raced through her head as the headline on the newspaper resurfaced in her mind. She sighed. More than she dared to admit it, she was afraid for the boy, and it was worse that there was nothing she could do it.

She hated this. Even after twenty-two years, she still hated feeling so handicapped. So powerless. So _normal_.

It was all Pitch's fault that she was like this. It was all Pitch's fault that heroes were banned and criminals ruled. It was all his fault that she lost the custody of her daughter in the first place.

Well, maybe no one could have saved the last one. And it was more her own fault anyway.

She scrubbed her hands over the sink, rubbing her skin move furiously than it needed to be. As she did, Tooth surveyed her appearance sourly, from her dyed hair down to the coat she had slipped over her shoulders earlier.

Years ago, when she had first passed the Ameripanian customs, becoming a dentist and owning a clinic was all she ever wanted. Of course, supers and the idea of heroism entered the scene, and everything changed. She knew from the day that they had recruited her that it was her destiny to a Guardian.

And all that had been stripped away from her.

Perhaps sometime, if you find yourself cooking and find yourself heating up a pot of soup or water, at some point the simmering liquid would start to knock itself against the metal walls around it, jumping, dancing, kicking wildly until it finally overflowed.

Like that boiling pot, a burst of energy over flowed from her.

As she scratched aggressively against her own palms, she suddenly lurched forward, a new weight had been added to one of her arms, but the inertia of her old movement resulted in _'phwack!'_ instead, and a hole was formed in the wall.

As she stepped back in surprise, Tooth found that what actually made the hole had been a sword – a sword that had mysteriously appeared in her hand. A sword that was half of the two that had been past down to her mother, who had received from her mother and her own mother before that. A sword that was that not physical in nature and could only be drawn from memory.

The memories that she had no access to for the last twenty-two years after that the near-fatal battle with Pitch.

"Dr. Kadni?" She heard a rapping against the door.

Quickly, Tooth hid the blade behind her, stepping in front of the damaged wall too just as the panel slid open and her receptionist stuck his head in.

Putting on an innocent expression, Tooth asked, "Yes?"

"Are you ready? Can I send in the nine o'clock?"

"Yes-" thinking about the weapon she was hiding behind her "-er, I do need five more minutes."

"Alright, Doctor." The man nodded, before drawing the door shut.

Tooth then whipped out the sabre that she had been hiding behind her back. She traced the engravings. She tested sharpness of the blade. She examined the decorated hilt and admired how well it still fit her palm. It was just as she had remembered. Memory, after all, didn't really change.

The woman then gazed her empty left hand, where the matching weapon was meant to be. She let out a long exhale, then closed her eyes. She thought of her birthplace, the village she grew up in, the forests that ended up become her dwelling place, her mother teaching her to use her powers…

A flood of emotion came crashing over her as memory after memory flowed over her. She flinched visibly, though the battle was within.

And she saw darkness. She heard the Boogeyman mocking her as he tore through her mind and ripped her defenses apart. She felt her astral palaces being bombarded with black sand and falling apart. She felt her wings being ripped right off her back and her weapons torn from her hands.

She was afraid.

Then, she frowned. Hadn't she been afraid for too long?

 _He_ had done this to her. _He_ had crippled her. _He_ had made her helpless.

And she would never, never let him ever do that to anyone again.

The images on the morning paper burned in her mind.

 _Especially not Jack._

Letting out a guttural roar, Tooth thrust her empty hand forward, making a slashing motion as if it was Pitch standing right before her now. And when she opened her eyes, she found that the hand had now been filled.

She lifted the two sabers close to her face, like two long lost friends who she could not stop gazing at. Then, she opened her palms.

The swords vanished.

She then curled her fingers inward, just to try one more time.

From the hilt up to the tip, the blades grew itself from her will alone and they gleamed as she held them both to the light.

When Pitch invited her to the gala that night, he expected a guest. When the NSA told her to accept the invitation and go for it, they expected a spy. Tonight, though she knew what she was going to do.

She was going to stop him for once and for all.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Well, I really enjoyed writing this chapter.**

 **Those who had read the Guardians of Childhood books, or read enough ROTG fanfics, or just have good inference skills, would know who 'General Kozmotis Pitchiner' is. Oh, and I gave Manny the name Manuel, because Manny is too weird as a real name, and I can't imagine Pitch saying it.**

 **Reminder that the present year of the story is 2015. The flashback scene was in September of 1982. And yes, the movie 'ET' came out in 1982.**

 **Lots of Incredibles References in this chapter. Here are some notes on the characters who appeared, in case you're not as familiar with the movie as I am. Of course, some spoilers for the movie (but if you haven't watched the Incredibles by now, it's your own fault. It's a great movie. You've waited too long…..):**

 **NSA – National Supers Agency. In the story, they're gonna kind of be like what S.H.I.E.L.D. was to Avengers. Kind of only.**

 **Rick Dicker is the old agent in the NSA from the Incredibles who helped Mr. Incredible (Bob) and possibly other supers get integrated into normal life after the Anti-Hero Act. He's seen in the movie after the part where Bob throws his boss through the office walls, and also in the car with the Incredibles after they defeated Syndrome's Omnidroid. In this story, he's still with the NSA, and still doing the same boring job.**

 **Mirage should be better known, because in the movie, she's Syndrome's assistant (the dark-skinned lady with white hair). She does change sides later, though, and according to the Incredibles comics (they exist – look it up) she did join the NSA for a while as an agent. So in this story, she's working for the NSA now, and is also Violet's mentor. I'm sure Helen Parr just loves that. (Muhahaha)**

 **Oh, yeah, haven't really thought of a superhero name for Dash yet. I could just wait for Incredibles 2 to come out and have Brad Bird tell what it is, or if there's one, but by then, I would have either finished this story or quit writing (hehehehehe).**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Greetings, all! Well, here's a hello since never! I'm in exam time now, so I'm caught in dilemma in which I have huge stress-generated inspiration to write and I don't have time to write, since I should be after all revising. It's a strange place to be…**

 **For people who also read 'When Jack Frost Asks The Snow Queen to Prom', I** **apologise** **for not updating. Let's say that my current inspiration sprout wants me to write more … dark stuff, and I shouldn't bring in anymore dark stuff in that story.**

 **Guest Review Mailbox:**

 **Guest (Dec3): Awww, thanks for reading this story and I'm glad that you like my portrayal of Jack. I always kind of saw him as a laidback, down-to-earth kind of fellow with secret loneliness issue. Thank you for emerging from the shadows and letting know me know that there are people reading this story. It is a great motivator.**

 **So, see y'all next time, folks. Comments, critiques are always appreciated. Since it's likely that I won't be able to update a chappie here till next year, well, MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

 **(I never did like New Year's much, so, no Happy New Year. No.)**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	23. Chpt 22: How Many Roads Must a Man Walk

Chapter 22: How Many Roads Must a Man Walk Down

* * *

She glanced at the frosted glass door that read 'open' before pushing her way in. A little welcome jingle played as she stepped into the arcade, before that itself was drowned out by the _'bloops'_ and the _'pews-pews-pews!_ ' that came from the machines. An old fellow in a striped suit greeted her, inviting her to check out the many games that the place had and to use the change machine to break her notes if required. Merida nodded at him politely, then went off to explore.

The Sunday crowd was by no means large, but there was at least a person at every third stall, so that wasn't too bad. She had never been much a fan of virtual reality games though, so the flashy names and the colorful posters meant absolutely nothing to her. This wasn't a necessarily a bad thing since she wasn't here to have fun.

In the periphery of her vision, the redhead detected a bluish glow and spun herself around towards it. No one else in the place could see what she saw though, so no one else saw how the bob of light indicated behind itself. When she neared it, the light vanished, and another bobbing wisp had appeared, this time near a door that said, _'Staff Only.'_ She didn't have to wait long before the old arcade owner was distracted by a little kid smashing his fist on his machine. Grasping that opportunity, Merida pushed the door and slipped into the office.

After entering, her eyes traced the mess that was the table, over the various books and manuals that the owner of the arcade undoubtedly used for the maintenance of his machines, but her attention was quickly stolen by the wisp floating at the door that said, _'Knock Before Entering.'_

She made a move towards it, then felt her phone beep in her pocket. Yanking it out, she found that the timer told her that a minute was over. Groaning, she sighed, stuffed the phone back in her pocket and vanished in a poof of blue flame. When she reopened her eyes, she was back in the changing closet, with dress number eleven – a deep red mermaid-tail gown that highlighted her hair in the worst way – hanging of the wall hook and looking very annoyed with how it had been neglected.

"Miss Dunbroch?" she heard her personal assistant calling from the other side of the door in a sing-song sort of voice. "How's the dress coming along?"

"Just fine, Maudie," she answered back, hurriedly ripping off the sweater. This took longer than usual, thanks to the stupid bandage that was on her left arm. The doctor insisted that she keep it there till the bleeding stopped. Tearing off her jeans and sneakers too, she then yanked the dress off the hook a bit too roughly. Holding the gown out at arms-length, she cringed at the large tear drawing along the sleeve area. "Um, just to check, how much is this dress?"

"$350, and that's not including tax," came a deeper, dry voice that she had come to recognize.

Opening the door of the changing room slightly, Merida stuck her head out. There Maudie was, sipping some tea while checking her notebook for the next thing on the 'young Miss Dunbroch's agenda' for the day. At the other end of the boutique was her 'babysitter', examining one of the lace gowns on display. His head lifted towards her when he heard the door open and his expression was amused.

Raising her brow at him, Merida demanded, "Shouldn't you be resting at home?-" looking at his head "-And where's your bandage?"

"I took it off," Hans answered offhandedly, then pointed at the dress on display. "Have you considered this one? I think pink would look nice on you."

"I loathe pink," was her biting reply. "Maudie-," without opening the door of the dressing room fully, Merida held out the dress to the PA "-there's something wrong with this dress. It's got some weird tear along the sleeve.

"It wasn't there before," the assistant took the gown with a puzzled expression, adjusting her glasses.

"Well, I dunno. Maybe it was hidden." Merida shrugged with feigned innocence. Hans shot her a disbelieving look, but she ignored it.

"I'll check with the shop assistant," the older woman said, shuffling away to out of the room. It would be some time before she returned, for the boutique was rather large. It was one of those fancy, high-class ones with huge fitting rooms and spacious waiting areas, after all.

The redheaded girl then swung her head to the young man, who now was in the process of perusing the gowns on the shelves. "Why are you here?"

"Just helping out, and because I have to accompany you anyway," he replied smoothly, pulling out a blood-red gown for a brief study, then replacing it. "You do realize that the party tonight's quite a big deal."

"All these old business guys think that they're a big deal." Merida let out a big huff, drawing herself back behind the door. There was a loose _yakuta_ there provided for her to cover herself so that she could return to trying more dresses. Seeing that it would be a waste not to use it, she slipped it on, tying the belt around her waist and securing it with a knot at her side. After putting on the matching slippers, she unlocked the door and emerged from the dressing room.

Hans had removed a short, frilly rose-colored dress from the collection and was in process of studying it. Noting her presence, he held the dress out in her direction and remarked, "I think this suits you."

Merida took one look at it and shuddered. "I told you I hate pink."

"It's not pink." Hans rolled his eyes. "It's light pink."

"So it's still pink, and pink is disgusting." The girl shook her head firmly. "How about-" she went over to the row of dresses, threading her fingers through the hangers before pulling out one "-this one?"

Hans eyed the simple brown outfit distastefully. "It's brown."

"So?"

"It's boring, and you'll look like a tree that caught fire."

She thought about it for a moment. "I don't mind."

"As your date, I'm vetoing this." He politely but firmly removed the dress from her grasp, plunging back into the stack of dresses. He then thrust the rose-colored dress towards her, smiling almost impishly. "You'll look sweet."

"Well, I don't want to look sweet."

"No, I suppose you don't." He made a show of shrugging, bearing a mocking expression at the same time. "You don't have the guts to pull it off."

Giving him a withering glare, the girl snatched the garment from his hands. Sticking her nose up at him, she jabbed him in the chest with the hanger.

"Ow! What was that for?"

She didn't answer, just spinning around and heading straight back into the changing room. Once she was back inside, she lost the robe and slippers, slipping the sweater and the jeans back on. She strapped her sneakers back on and started the timer on her phone for one minute. With a thought, the pendant was lit aflame.

Back she was in the office of the gaming arcade and luckily no one had returned when she reappeared. However, she could no longer see the blue lights.

Merida counted back the time that had passed and groaned in disgust as she noted that yet another fifteen minutes had gone by since her last dose of the potion. At this rate, she might run out of the magic cake before she found Knight.

She pulled a face as she removed the enchanted confectionary from her sweater pocket, biting into it, swallowing the thing hastily before the horrendous taste could set in.

Nope. Still tasted like plastic.

But at least it was working. Within seconds of swallowing the disgusting chunk of flour, a Wisp appeared, dancing in front of the door labelled, _'Knock Before Entering'_.

She walked towards it, stopping behind the door frame and turned the door knob. A wall of bricks was all that lay behind it. Well, if that didn't say dead end, nothing else did.

"Hey, Red-stuff."

She jumped when she heard the squeaky voice, fearful that she had finally been caught. But she couldn't really feel that intimidated when the one who had caught her was a spry little squirt one-third her height. Rocking back and forth on her heels, the girl in the green hoodie asked her, "What'cha doing?"

Unsure of what to make of her unexpected guest, Merida answered haltingly, "Looking around."

"Hmm, I see." The disdainful tone the girl had told her that she didn't believe her. Tilting her head sideways, the girl thumbed the office door. "Didn't you read the sign? It's says _'Staff Only'_. I'm pretty sure you're not a staff here."

"Pots and kettles. I'm pretty sure you're not a staff either," Merida shot back, looking her up and down. She found a little hard to believe that anyone would possibly wear such an array of bright colors.

The girl let out a throaty chuckle. "Sure I am." She suddenly stopped, and her eyes widened with interest. "Hey, you have a glowing necklace. Cool! Can I touch it?" She stretched her tiny arms forward with a grabbing motion.

"No!" Merida covered the pendant with her hands immediately. Glancing down at it, she discovered that it was indeed glowing quite brightly. That was peculiar, since it usually did not burn with such ferocity unless she was using it.

The black-haired girl merely threw her head back and cackled in a way that made a chill run down Merida's spine.

"You should see your face!" the kid hooted, pointing at the redhead, before bursting into another peal of laughter. Then just as suddenly as she had begun, the girl in the hoodie stopped and then her expression turned grave. "But seriously, 13's not going to be happy that you're using that talisman in his city."

"You know I have-" the redhead broke herself off when it hit her "-you know 13!"

The girl nodded rather nonchalantly. "Yeah. So?"

"You know what happened to-" Merida shook her head, taking on a more threatening tone "-where is Knight?"

The kid made a quizzical; face. "What's Knight?"

"The superhero!" This kid was really getting on her nerves. "The bony lad who dresses in black armor and rides a giant flying bat!"

"I thought it was a dinosaur."

"Whatever." Merida flung her hands up in the air in surrender, grinding her teeth against each other. _"Where. Is. He?"_

"Where he's supposed to be – out of the way."

Merida approached the girl, fists clenched together, her heart thudding at an unnatural pace. "What do you mean by that?"

"I dunno." The girl shrugged, a smirk forming on the side of lip. "What d'ya think I mean by that?"

"Look, here, you pint-sized, squirmy little punk-" the redhead made it to grab the smug little kid, only to find that her fingers went right through the girl's arm "-what the-"

The little kid, if that was what she was, laughed one last time, before dissolving into a blurred flurry of lights. A blink later, it could have been believed that she was never there at all.

And maybe she never was.

Rubbing her eyes, Merida glanced around the office once again, checking under the table and around the shelves, just to make sure the snarky little pre-teen wasn't hiding anywhere. The more she looked, the more incredulous she felt, and the more she wondered if she was seeing things.

The blue wisp had reappeared again, but it was still hovering unhelpfully to the _'Knock Before Entering'_ door. Merida stared at it for a good long while, then decided, against her own sensibilities, to knock.

Nothing happened.

She turned the knob and was met with a strong breeze, smacking against her and tugging against her copper curls.

"Gah!" She slammed the door shut, panting heavily to regain the breath that had been unexpectedly stolen from her. Eyeing the innocuous slab of wood with trepidation, she twisted the knob again –

\- and found herself staring at a brick wall.

She noticed then the bluish hue that surrounded her neck area. Her pendant with the bear markings was glowing unnaturally bright, and she realized that the intensity of its brightness increased when she brought it nearer to the door.

Pressing her lips together in thought, Merida shut the door again, catching sight of the sign once again. _'Knock Before Entering.'_

So she knocked, and then opened the door.

The mighty gust met her once again, but this time she was ready for it. Covering her eyes with her good hand, she stepped into the grassy meadow. Without warning, the door vanished, and she was left stranded in this strange place. Fortunately, the light vibrations of her pendant over her collarbone told her that it was in working order to take her wherever she wanted. With that assurance, she decided to venture deeper into the windy hill. There was no harm trying to figure out why 13 – _if_ it was 13 – had sent her here.

A short trek revealed the function of her location, if the grey blocks of stone were anything to go by. The strong wind had knocked over the incense urns and the joss sticks. Flowers laid at the graves too had been blown away from their original locations, lying scattered on the stone-covered path.

She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket and she sighed as she switched it off. She ought to return back to the dressing room before Hans and Maudie have the door broken down and think she got kidnapped again.

 _"Meeeooow."_

That sound had emerged from behind one of the stone tablets. Merida blinked.

 _"Meow!"_ This time it sounded more insistent.

Stepping around the marble structures so as not to accidentally damage anything, the young redhead circled around the memorial site and found a small black clump of fur huddled in the corner, attempting to hide from the wind while mewing for help.

"Well," Merida said with a hand on her hip, amused, "ain't you a shabby sight."

The green orbs of the creature's eyes fixed themselves her and in response to her words, it let out a low snarl.

Clucking her tongue chidingly, Merida raised a hand out to the cat, making a beckoning motion. With what seemed to be a reluctant expression, the feline crawled towards her, purring with apprehension. The girl slowly reached her hand towards the creature, but this earned her a snap of hostility.

" _Yeesh_ , _ye daft beast_ ," she scolded the cat, drawing her hand back hastily. "I'm only trying to help."

The cat relaxed its tensed position, mewing in what seemed to be a slightly apologetic manner, leaping from its spot towards her. In an unsure manner, it began to rub its head against her leg, begging in silent forgiveness.

Despite herself, Merida felt her heart softening towards the creature. "Alright, I don't actually hate you, but you better not breathe fire on me."

Squatting herself down, she made a motion to scoop the cat up. To her relief, the feline didn't resist, leaping up into her arms and mewing as she lifted it up to her chest. Well, she supposed it was kind of cute – compared to its reptile form, at least.

"So, kitty," she said, finding herself scratching the beast on his back, earning grateful purrs as a result, "where's your master?"

Almost immediately, a blob of blue light came in vision, dancing over one of the nearby graves. The cat startled at the sight of it, nearly leaping out of her arms.

"Hold it together, you charcoal bag," the girl chided at the creature, readjusting it in her arms as she walked towards the wisp. When she neared it, it disappeared, and another one reappeared on the stone path. The wisps were not done with her yet.

As she followed the lights, Merida found herself being led under a canopy of trees, with the stone path now hidden under a blanket of leaves. Venturing further inside, she found that the lights stopped her at a wooden sign board. The board obviously held the name of the sight, but it was all in _kanji_ , so she couldn't read it.

She could get it translated later though. Whipping out her phone, she snapped a picture of it and also checked the time at the same time. Three minutes. She had better head back.

"Try not to make too much noise," Merida murmured to the cat, massaging its neck just as a blue light engulfed them. She felt the creature squirm in her arms, yowling at the unfamiliar sensation of teleporting through space.

When she had returned back to the fitting room, she heard a rather frantic rapping against her door. "Merida, is everything alright in there?"

"Yep, yep!" she supplied the answer as quickly as she could, trying to keep the panicked cat from squealing out its terror, earning a bite on her finger. "Ow! Hey!"

"Are you okay?" came the concerned inquiry from her 'babysitter' on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, just-" she glared at the feline, which had leapt out of her hands and into a corner of the closet, snarling lowly "-hit myself."

"You sure?" His tone was uncertain. "You went awfully quiet just now."

"Sorry, got-" she grabbed the pink frill dress of the hanger, careful not to tear it this time "-distracted by something on

"I see." Though he sounded disapproving, he bought into her excuse. "What I asked is that if you think you're honestly okay with going to the party. I mean, you just got kidnapped. No one's going to blame you if you gave it a miss."

Merida tore off her clothes and threw them aside, and then it occurred to her that she was standing here, nearly naked, in the full view of a shape-shifting cat. Fortunately, a glance towards the black creature proved that the beast paid her immodesty no care whatsoever, preferring to settle itself in a comfortable ball on top of a pile of garments. With her mind put to ease, she slipped the dress on.

"Hello?" Hans sounded a little impatient.

"Sorry-" she reached behind her back for the zipper, "-got distracted. What was it?"

"I asked if you're okay with going to the party," he said, really quite annoyed at having to repeat himself so many times by now, "because I should warn you, it's nothing like the ones you've been to before."

"What do you mean?" she asked, voice going wheezy as she felt the bandsof the dress squeezing her ribs together. Merida peered down at the flowy dress with revulsion. As light and frilly as this dress might appear, it undoubtedly a torture designed for women. Gritting her teeth together, she fastened the last straps and let out a breath, only to realize that she couldn't. "I mean, a gathering of boring old people is still going to be boring, right?"

"Not exactly. Anything you do or say for this kind of party can have massive consequences," was his pensive answer. "Of course, not attending can be construed as an insult sometimes. In your case, though, it might be quite forgivable."

The option was tempting, of course. She had a missing superhero to find and a feline to hide. But if she backed out of the party tonight, her mother would know. And if her mother knew, she would think the whole kidnapping ordeal had traumatized her to the point that she would get a bodyguard, or maybe a whole set of bodyguards. With extra surveillance, she would never get away with teleporting out of a dress closet.

"I'm going to the party," Merida answered determinedly, picking up the cat. "I've managed this far." The beast scuffled about a bit, probably still spooked by the teleportation process. She didn't care though, hurriedly stuffing it inside one of the shoe boxes. She then straightened out her dress a little, tried to breathe (and failed) then stepped out of the dressing room. "But seriously, this dress sucks."

He looked up to examine her and she noticed that his eyes widened slightly - and not in disgust. "You look nice."

"Really?" she puffed, wanting to raise her voice, but realized that she couldn't with the dress constricting her chest movements. "Well, the straps are killing me."

"We can get it tailored later. Here-" he dragged her over to the mirror, nearly making her trip over "-we'll need to fix up your hair-"

"Yeah, like I'm going to let you – _ow, ow, ow-_ "

He had scooped up her hair and looped it in a bun. Peering at her, then at the mirror, he nodded. "Yep. A nice pair of earrings."

"But my ears aren't pierced."

"Get them pierced then."

She grabbed her ears, horrified. "No!"

"And I think heeled sandals would look nice." He ignored her protest, glanced critically down at her uncovered feet. "You need those nails manicured though."

"What are you – my flippin' fairy godmother?" Merida growled at him, turning crimson and trying to cover her feet with another.

"Trust me, where you're going tonight, you want to be dressed to kill." Hans adjusted one of the sleeves of her dress, straightening it out whilst looking at her image in the mirror. "But yes, pink suits you."

"Of course, you would pick the color I hate the most-" then she looked at the mirror – really, really looked, without thinking about her frustrations with her mother, or bothering about the cat hidden now in the shoebox, or worrying about her missing fellow teen hero. And she realized, for however horrible the dress felt on her, she did look nice in it. Almost pretty, even. "Oh."

When Hans left her to examine the shelves once again, mumbling something about finding a matching sash, Merida twirled herself around. She watched with a mix of pleasure and disgust at how the ruffles and curls seemed to float around her, though in reality they were pinching and pressing in all the wrong places. "Hmmph."

It was then she noticed a glittering envelope sitting on the couch. It lay over the clipboard that undoubtedly belonged to her aide. Usually, she took no interest in the administrative duties of her PA, but for some reason, she felt drawn to the slip of paper. So Merida picked it up and opened it, pulling out the glossy card that sat within it.

It was completely in _kanji_.

She groaned. Perhaps she should really consider learning the language. Her mother had been pestering her ages to take up Japanese lessons, especially since the private school she attended didn't teach it. Of course, considering that she was already struggling with all her current school work, an extra load was probably going to crush her.

Though she couldn't read the words, she did recognize some of the characters on the card. Pulling out her phone, Merida compared them to the ones on the card and noticed that some definitely similar.

"Hey, BS," she called the man, keeping her phone.

"Yeah, what?" It was kind of odd how he had come to respond to the nickname.

"Can you help me read this?" She pointed to the characters on the card that had matched those on her phone.

He gazed down at the card, then at her with questioning expression.

"I can't read Japanese," she explained dryly.

"You should learn."

"I know." Merida gave him a plaintive expression, tossing back her curls, only to find that she couldn't move her neck enough to do it. "Definitely getting this adjusted. So,-" looking expectantly "-what does it say?"

"The words say, in direct translation, _'The Clan of Akumu.'_ " He pointed at the words as he interpreted them for her.

" _'The Clan of Akumu'_?" Her face twisted with confusion. "What's that? Some rich family in Burgeshima?"

"'Akumu' is not a family name." He looked at her strangely, before pointing at two of the words. "It means 'Nightmares'."

"Nightmares," she repeated after him with a hint of amusement, and then stopped.

The Clan of Nightmares.

 _The Nightmare Yakuza._

The Nightmare Yakuza owned the place where she had found Knight's – Hiccup's cat.

The Nightmare Yakuza had Knight.

"Why does Maudie have a card with the Nightmare Yakuza on it?" Merida flipped the glossy piece of paper around, feeling a severe sense of disquiet rising up in her chest.

"Because they're your hosts for tonight. I assume you knew."

Her jaw almost hit the earth. The hand holding the card tremble. Unable to quite take this in, she asked, wary, "Why've they invited me?"

Hans didn't answer immediately, instead nipping the card from her hands and sliding it back into the envelope. At last, he answered, cynical, "The same reason you were kidnapped yesterday."

She narrowed her eyes as she thought back. "For being rich."

"For being rich and well-connected," he corrected drily, tossing the envelope back into Maudie's work pile. "And considering that 43% of Dunbroch Bank Trust shares are owned by Yakuza members, you're practically a princess amongst them." He patted her on the shoulder in a manner that was almost sympathetic. "Not quite the ball you were expecting, Cinderella?"

He departed that section of the boutique, presumably to do whatever he usually did when he left her alone. Eyeing the envelope lying on the couch, then turning back to her charming but horrifyingly uncomfortable reflection in the mirror, Merida was grateful to be distracted by the furry black shoe-box-escapee that pranced towards her, carrying a sneaker in its mouth. It lay its offering down at her, before running back into the closet to fetch the other. With the pair before her, it gazed up her keenly.

"Well, that's thoughtful of you." She reached down to wear them, only realize that she couldn't bend at all. "Okay. Let's get this-" tapping meaningfully on her dress "-off, then we're going to find your master."

The cat meowed in approval.

* * *

"Look at this. It's disgusting!"

"I know, but-" Kristoff glanced over his shoulder fearfully. As far as he could tell, there was no one else in the department store besides themselves and the owner. Still, the owner might be a Nightmare sympathiser for all he knew, and it would spell bad news for them if his companion's rather vocal opinions were heard "-do you have to be so loud?"

"It's horrendous and you know it," Anna whispered with the same ferocity as before, but hey, at least it was softer this time. "This-" she thrust the newspaper into his face "-has the Nightmare Yakuza's handprints all over it. It's a literal manipulation of the press! The suppression of free speech!" She pulled it back for moment to grimace at it, then shoved it back in his face.

The blonde boy pushed the paper out of his face, rolling his eyes. "You know, in general, most people don't think well of supers. Why are you mad about this?"

"Because he's a hero!" Her voice shot up several decibels, making Kristoff horrified all over again. "He doesn't deserve this kind of abuse from people!"

"Shhh!" The boy clamped up hand over her mouth, eyes darting around in to look for rogues or hooligans hidden in behind the shelves or around the corner. "Did you hear anything of what I said?"

 _"Mmmphff! Mmmphff!"_ Anna wriggled her way out of his grasp, pushing him away. Still furious, and now looking furious with him - "Doesn't make me less right."

"It's not a matter of right or wrong. It's a matter of whether we'll leave this city with our heads. Now let's put this-" Kristoff grabbed the newspaper out of her hands, folded it up, then lay it back on the rack "-back where we found it and get ourselves-" he grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the exit "- _out_."

If he had a choice, they would be on a bus back to Arenashi by now. In a matter of fact, they would have been on a back to Arenashi two days ago if he had any say in the matter. But _nooooo_ , they had to do things Anna's way. While he had to admit that she was right that they had managed to pin down a gripping headliner, he would gladly exchange that achievement for a good night's rest - one without wondering if a gunman was going to pop up any moment to punch bullets in his brain.

He really, really wanted to get out of this town.

But their gracious host – the _Kumicho_ of the Nightmare Yakuza – had insisted that they take the more comfortable, more efficient bullet train home. Kristoff had no problems with a faster ride and hey, even better if it's _free_! But it just happened that there was a train breakdown between Korobe and Abashinard, and it was estimated that the train would only arrive in the afternoon. They couldn't go and take the bus, because apparently there had only been one bus to Arenashi today and they had already missed it. It was as if the transportation system was conspiring to keep them in Burgeshima for as long as possible.

He glanced at his watch. Three hours more to go till their train arrived. Three hours. They could survive three hours -

"It's all the Boogeyman's fault. That sneaky, son of-"

-as long as he kept his partner's mouth shut.

"Anna," he hissed into her ear, gripping her wrist almost painfully, "do the words _'see no evil, speak no evil'_ mean anything to you?"

"No, because the correct phrase _is 'see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil'_ ," the girl told him pointedly, prying his fingers off her with an incensed huff. "And a proverb like that doesn't work very well for someone who's trying to be a reporter."

"Well, ideally, honest opinions are great," was Kristoff's dissatisfied answer. He forced them both to continue going down the street as quickly as possible, deliberately swerving them away from passerbys lest they hear the conversation. "But has it occurred to you that when you get in trouble, I get in trouble too?"

"Hey-" Anna narrowed her eyes at him "-the footage of Jack Frost came from your camera and you wanted the credit for it."

"One, I used a phone for that footage. If I had a camera, the resolution would be much better," Kristoff corrected her. "Two, I risked too much to film it, so you bet I'm getting credit."

The girl snorted at him as they turned at a fork down the road. The city was getting a little more crowded now that it was later in the day, but a Sunday morning seemed to put the city in a lazy mood. The passerbys went past with a leisurely stroll. Idle, scrappy-looking individuals sat by the sidewalks and smoked their cigarettes. An occasional middle-aged woman trudged by, pulling behind her a trolley of groceries while wiping the sweat onto her sleeve. The city was not very crowded.

This also meant, however, that most of the shops were closed and there wasn't very much to do while waiting for their train. He was dragging his heavy camera bags around while she stomped down the cobbled path before them, still looking about as disgruntled as a kitten who had its milk stolen from it. On occasion, Kristoff wondered what could possibly go in the mind this energetic, this passionate. Considering how quickly her mind seemed to flit from thing to another – and her mood likewise – he wondered if she had ever had a solid, grave thought in her life.

"What?"

He snapped out of his musing. "What do you mean 'what'?"

"You're looking at me weird," she told him, glancing up and down the street before crossing it. There wasn't much traffic around and it was a good deal quieter than the past few days.

He hastened his pace to keep up with her, too checking the street before doing so, just in case. He couldn't very well ask _'What on Earth goes on in that head of yours?'_ He wasn't _that_ incompetent in social etiquette. So, instead, the question he posed to her was, "Why does this matter so much to you?"

"Why does 'what' matter?"

"Superheroes. Jack Frost. Guardians. This-" he peered distastefully around him "-this city. Why?"

The girl suddenly went really quiet, so quiet that the blonde boy actually jumped when the engine of a passing vehicle rumbled and spluttered as it rolled down the road. Her pace had actually slowed and he found that he could easily overtake her, but he didn't, slowing his own speed to keep her company. That, and the camera bag was really heavy.

It was a T-junction crossing later that he finally got an answer. "Jack Frost saved my life."

"Well, I know. You told the Boogey- I mean, Pitch Black about it." Kristoff let an impatient huff. Well, he was an idiot enough to think there was more to this than some post-victim drama. "He rescued you when you were a kid and stuff, right?"

"It wasn't just that. He rescued me-" she fiddled with her bag absentmindedly "-and then he was scorned for it. There was a huge press backlash against him"

"Oh." Well, that was actually legitimately horrid. "Wow."

"A lot of people died that day when the hotel collapsed," the girl said sombrely, and he had to take back the thought that she was not capable of seriousness. In a matter of fact, he wondered if he had ever seen someone this serious. "My sister was one of them, actually. Because he couldn't save them, he was blamed for their deaths."

"Ouch. Some gratefulness," he commented sympathetically. It was unfair. Her indignant attitude was starting make sense.

"I know, right?" Anna's tone was a mix of bitterness and fury just as the red man on the traffic light turned green. "It's like history's repeating itself all over again. There were people who wanted to try him in court. For _saving people._ Can you imagine that?"

As they made their way to the other side of the road, Kristoff tried to break the silence by changing the subject. "So, you had a sister, huh? What was she like? A mini-you?"

He was glad to see a small smile grow his companion's face. "She was older than me, and she was mostly very serious. If I'm a jester, she's a queen." She let out a low chuckle, but it was a tinged by sadness. "She looked nothing like me, acted nothing like me. Sometimes, I wondered by the way our parents kept us apart whether we were really related."

"O-kay." Puzzlement was written all over his face. "That's rather … unusual."

"I do miss her sometimes, though," Anna murmured, so softly that he might have guessed that she was talking to herself and not him. "I don't have a lot of good memories of her left – heck, I don't have a lot of memories of her, period. But on occasion, I…"

She trailed off a bit, and for a moment, he thought she would just leave it hanging.

"…I do remember the fun," the girl finished in a melancholic tone. By the way she clasps her hands together, squeezed tightly and gazing up in the sky, she looked oddly forlorn that Kristoff had to resist the urge to comfort her. After he did, though, he would have wished that he hadn't.

Fortunately, their conversation was interrupt by deep tolls, ringing out clear for the precinct to hear. Both interns lifted their heads and found that just across the street stood a sturdy, gothic-looking cathedral made of stone. From its bell-tower was heard twelve rungs. It was twelve o'clock.

Kristoff calculated the numbers before telling his companion, "We've got about two hours and forty-five minutes left, so what do you-"

His companion had vanished.

"Anna?" A surge of horror shot through his system and he began desperately twisting himself around. Had someone hooligan picked her off the street when he wasn't paying attention? Was she being now dragged away against her free-will off in some depilated, smoky car where she would be knocked out with chloroform? Would all the things he had fearfully warned her about finally come to pass? "Anna!"

Oh, wait, wait, there she was – crossing the street towards the cathedral. Without telling him a single thing.

Kristoff massaged his temple, muttering complaints as he went after the girl.

* * *

She wasn't exactly a church-going sort of girl. In a matter of fact, most memories that she had of churches were of stiff-looking pastors saying things in a monotone and boring sermons that her parents always had to wake her up from. Her elder sister hadn't been much better, always making up games and bringing in small items to play with during the services. That was until she stopped appearing in public all together.

Still, her lack of attendance had not exempted her from being buried in the graveyard behind the church. Five years later, tombstones were too erected there for the parents, though there were no bodies to go with those graves. Church then turned from a place of boredom to a place of sorrow and Anna couldn't find it in herself to step into one again.

But now she found herself climbing up the cobbled steps and staring up at the spires that rose up from the Neo-Gothic building. There was something majestic yet tranquil the old-looking cathedral that drew her up its steps and towards its door. She couldn't help but laugh a little at the thought. Years of absolute reluctance to attending the neighbourhood Protestant church, and here she was stepping into a Catholic one in a foreign city on her own accord. Her diehard Lutheran parents would certainly balk at this if they were still around.

As she ascended, she noticed that there were many figures loitering on the steps. Some seemed to be vendors, offering trinkets adorned with icons and symbols, but a number were scabby fellows who looked like they hadn't showered for weeks. A broken cup or a dusty hat sat before them while their own heads were bowed – whether in shame or in humility, Anna couldn't be sure – as they silently pleaded mercy from the passer-bys.

So distracted was she by the sight that she almost ran into one of them. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry."

The man curled by the ledge appeared quite disgruntled by her carelessness, drawing his damp shawl over his shoulders and glaring at her. Feeling a little guilty, the girl rummaged through her pockets for the dollar bill she had stuffed there the day before.

"Here." She held it out to him. He stared at the offered object, then at her, then snatched it from her hands, retreating to his corner and still looking grouchy.

The girl was slightly put off by the response, but she supposed she had set him in a rather bad mood in the first place. As she turned back towards the entrance of the cathedral, she realized that she saw the familiar black coats of some smartly-dressed men standing guard by the face of cathedral, their faces hard and unsmiling. She felt her muscle tense when she caught sight of the holster on one guard's belt when his coat flapped open. No cookie points for guessing who these fellows were.

She couldn't help but feel a little disturbed as she stepped through the arched entrance. That feeling quickly faded when she realised that she was standing in the middle of the nave. When she looked towards the central altar, she found that the attending crowd, which took up less than a third of the grand building, had themselves kneeled and their heads bowed while the priest in the front led them in prayer. Feeling extremely awkward, she quickly slipped herself into one of the benches, kneeled down and put on her best face of piousness.

The act got old really fast though and her eyes opened themselves before she knew it. Bored and curious, she started gazing up into the criss-cross vaults which the deep intonations of Latin resonated against. What the sounds said, she didn't know, but it did have musical-sounding quality to it.

As her eyes turned heavenwards, her line of sight also permitted her now to see the second floor of the cathedral, which had a tiered standing balcony fitted rather awkwardly over the main congregation. Anna couldn't imagine why anyone would pick to sit there when so much of the lower floor of the nave was empty, but there were figures there – two standing and one sitting. The two were more of the suited men. The one seated, or kneeling rather, was a slender figure dressed in dark blue, with her gold hair tied up in a bun. Her eyes were screwed shut and her gloved hands blocked her face, but her identity clicked immediately in Anna's mind.

She felt a shifting of furniture below her, so she looked to her side. Sure enough, her blonde companion had finally caught up with her and now he looked embarrassed at his own abrupt entrance into what was a rather solemn event. This embarrassment transformed into irritation when he knelt down by her side and whispered crossly, "Can you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Running off and doing your own thing, leaving me to think the worst has happened." He was trying to look fierce, understandably, but Anna couldn't help but think his anger was far too adorable for her to take seriously. "This little exercise on my blood pressure is going to kill me if your antics don't."

"Why do you always worry about everything?" she murmured to him, looking straight ahead but smiling.

"Because you have a tendency to drag us into the worst possible circumstances," was his biting retort. She still found this all rather hilarious though and the giggle that escaped her lips made it evident. In return, his frown at her deepened, which widened her smile even more.

"Shh!" someone in the row in front of them hissed, sounding very stern. Both of them hushed down for a while, but it wasn't long before one of them spoke again.

"Did you see the guards at the door?" Kristoff muttered to her. "The black-suit dudes with guns?"

She nodded.

"And you _still_ walked into this place." He sounded disgusted. "What is wrong with you?"

"I have great intuition for great stories," she told him, a little smugness lacing her voice.

"And great danger," he added, which got a withering look from her. Unfazed, he said, "Every time you do something unplanned or unneeded, I get this weird feeling that something would go wrong, and guess what? Something _always_ go wrong."

"Well, this time it won't," she told him. Just then, the priest closed the prayer, with the closure echoed by the congregation. The robed clergy then departed from the altar, granting the members their leave. "C'mon, follow me."

"This is going to go so, so wrong," he heard mutter behind her as she led them both away from the nave into the aisle.

The stairway to upper floor of the cathedral was found hidden behind a curtain, and the velvet barrier hung across its entrance should have probably deterred them from going any further. But Anna would not be hindered by some silly piece string, so she simply stepped over it and begun her ascent. She heard Kristoff mumble a complaint before grudgingly following her up.

The upper tier of the cathedral was a good deal plainer than its bottom half – not that the latter was aesthetically remarkable in the first place – but without the crowds of people, it was also a good deal more peaceful. Large glass windows allowed the light to pour in and paintings hung in between them depicting scenes that seemed to tell a story. Anna didn't take the time to study them though, moving cautiously towards the direction of the jutting balcony. By the time she reached it though, there was no one there.

"Why are we here?" she heard her companion mutter to her. From below, she could see that most of the congregation had cleared themselves from the pews, moving towards the exit and stopping only to converse with one another.

Anna bit the inside of her cheek as she twirled herself around, stepping away from the open balcony and back into the corridor. "She's not here."

"Who's not here?" Kristoff asked, but she didn't answer him immediately, checking the behind every pillar and crevice. "Anna, who?"

"You know, that girl that we saw."

"That we saw? Where? When?"

"You know, yesterday, when we were at the-" she broke herself off, suddenly stopping.

"When we were _what_?" The blonde boy was quite close to exploding, if his crimson face was anything to go by. She didn't answer him, staring out into space. "Anna, when we were-"

She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him to the direction of her gaze.

"-oh."

Apparently, there was a remote corner on the upper floor where a small chapel was hidden. The altar was nothing but small statue and even on squinting at it Anna couldn't place who, or even what, it represented, but that wasn't really where her attention was. No, it was on the blonde woman kneeled there, head bowed and lips moving, though no audible word could be heard.

The gnawing sensation that Anna had when she first laid eyes on the Nightmare King's daughter returned in full force and she found herself about to walk up to her when her partner pulled her back.

"Are you crazy?" his panicked voice filled her ear.

"I want to talk to her." She made a move forward again, which he responded to with a harder tug.

"Precisely! Don't you remember who her father is?"

"So? She seems nicer than him."

"How would you know she's nicer than him? You've barely exchanged like two sentences with each other! You don't know her anything about her."

"Actually, I _do_ know her."

"How?"

She hesitated.

"You don't know how you know her," he stated flatly.

"Well, yeah, that's true, but I've met her before. I'm sure of it," she insisted, glancing back towards the woman by the altar.

Her partner groaned, dragging a palm against his face and cursed under his breath. It happened that at this point his grip on her loosened and she shook him off. She then proceeded to march forward, determined and purposeful. Just as she did, the blonde woman rose from her kneeling position, crossed herself before the altar and spun on her heel, prepared to depart but became rooted to the ground when she saw Anna.

The girl swallowed as her own eyes met those of her target, but she mustered courage all the same, forcing herself to smile and proffered a hand. "Hi! Fancy seeing you here."

The daughter of the Nightmare King, who had some flowery name like Elise, or Elsie – oh, no, it was Elsa. Yes, _Elsa_ looked at her as if she were a ghost and her hand as if it were a snake.

Feeling a little shaken that her greeting was not well-received, Anna decided that a little refresher course might be needed. "Anna Arendelle? Reporter from Arenashi that met you yesterday? Well, not a real reporter yet. I mean, I'm still in college and this whole stint is kind of an internship, but hey, I'm published, so maybe it counts that I'm – um-" it dawned on her that she had rambled on for far too long already "-um, er,-"

"Yes, I remember you," was Elsa's – hmm, that name sounded weird, yet fitting at the same time – stiff reply. Her gaze flit briefly to Kristoff, who gave a small nod while wearing an expression that Anna knew meant that he was mortified beyond measure. The eyes then returned to her, and it occurred to Anna that her eyes were as remarkably blue as hers could not be easily forgotten. Then why had she forgotten when she had seen these? "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, we just happened to drop in. Just out of curiosity, no biggie-"

"No, why are you still in Burgeshima?" the blonde woman cut in so coldly that Anna felt goosebumps running down her arms. "My father said that you would be on the first train today back to your city."

"The first train today hasn't even arrived," Kristoff hastily explained when Anna didn't answer. "There's been a breakdown near Korobe, so we're stuck here for another two hours. Yeah."

"Oh." This response appeared to perturb the graceful young daughter of the Nightmare King (Those eyes, that hair, the way she carried herself, _why was it all so familiar?)_ Wringing her gloved hands together, she then said to them, "Well, enjoy your sightseeing, then. Don't let me get in the way."

As she made to brush past Anna, the girl with the braids anxiously stepped forward, blocking the path of the other girl.

Elsa was surprised by this, and this surprise morphed into irritation. "Excuse me, I need to leave."

"Wait, um, I was just hoping that we might-" gesticulating wildly while trying to explain herself "-talk, you know."

"Talk?" Elsa's brows knitted together skeptically.

"Yes, well, you see-" _I have this feeling that we've met before, but I can't place how or why. I mean, I don't know that many daughters of mobsters, and you probably don't know that many reporter interns, so, hehe, yeah, I can't explain this in a way that would not make you think I'm not completely crazy._

"We want to interview you." This interjection by Kristoff led to both girls turning to face him. Flushing red now that he was the centre of attention, he stuttered, "I mean? Er, if we could get an interview with the daughter of one of the most powerful ganglo- I mean, _men_ in Burgeshima, it'll surely get us another column on the paper."

"That's right!" Anna latched on his idea hurriedly, shooting him a grateful look. "It'll be fantastic if we could get your opinion on all the things that have been happening in Burgeshima, like your position on 13, on Jack Fro-"

"No." Elsa's answer was so sharp that it had both the interns from Arenashi stumbling back. "I'm sorry, but as a policy, I never take questions from the press."

"But-" Anna found herself grappling for any argument that she could make, something that would make this girl with blue eyes stay. Somehow, she knew she had to make a connection with her once – just _once_ – before they left Burgeshima for, possibly, forever.

"Now, if you would please excuse me." Elsa moved herself around Anna, her lips pursed firmly together.

Kristoff made way for her to pass him by, but Anna couldn't. No, she had to speak to her – this mysterious stranger. She had to find out why. "Wait, please-"

She acted before she thought, grabbing hold of the woman by the arm. The daughter of the Nightmare King of course jerked back in shock, which left Anna just holding onto the long blue glove instead of the arm.

It was as if a cord of restraint had snapped, for the blue eyes now glowed with fury. "Give me back my glove!"

"Wait, please, I just want to-" the real explanation was on the tip of her tongue, but before it could emerge from her mouth, a crushing blow slammed against her cheek. The force was not great, but it took her by surprise and she found her tumbling back.

Dots and specks of light danced in her vision while her ears filled with masculine shouting and thumping of boots on wood. She could hear Kristoff yelping in horror as a blurred black figure, which had emerged out of the shadows themselves, grabbed him from behind while his partner whipped out a baton and raised it at the panicking boy.

 _"Yamate!"_

The two guards froze in their positions. The slender woman was shorter than them both, but Anna could almost feel them cowering back.

The daughter of the Nightmare King marched forward, the sapphire irises glittering dangerously, and it hit Anna then that the irritation she had expressed earlier but was a fraction of her true fury.

She barked at the two guards hotly in surprisingly eloquent _nihongo_ , making them release Kristoff and retreat shamefacedly back against the wall, which was probably where they had been before they had pounced into action.

"I'm sorry for that." The remaining gloved hand was held out to the girl lying on the floor. Anna rubbed her bruised cheek as she gazed at it, then glanced up at the blonde woman. The lady called Elsa looked rather guiltily back at her.

Taking her hand, the brunette girl clambered back her feet, still a little dazed by what had just happened.

"The bodyguards my father assigned to me tend to be over protective." Elsa had let go of her hand almost immediately, but her manner was still remorseful. She glared at the two suited Nightmares. "You can imagine how difficult it was for me to make friends in school." Glancing back at Anna, the woman gasped when she saw the black and blue mark on her cheek. "You're hurt."

"Oh, this?" The girl pointed at the bruise. For some reason, she didn't want this supposed stranger to feel bad about what happen. She didn't like Elsa being upset. So she laughed it off. "I get these all the time. You should have seen me after the time I rode a bike down the stairs at home. The scratches were like-" she gestured at her arms, then her legs, then as afterthought, her whole torso too.

This anecdote seemed to amuse Elsa, for a small curled up from the side of her lip. "Isn't that rather dangerous on a spiral staircase?"

"Well, a little. I mean, you have to pay attention when you're doing the turns, if not you'll crash into the-" then it hit her "-wait, how did you know my house has a spiral staircase?"

The woman turned pale. "Well, I just, um, lucky guess. Well-" she hastily changed the subject – too hastily, Anna felt "- I supposed I owe you an apology, so please let me make it up to you. Both of you," she corrected herself when she glanced at Kristoff. "So let's find a place to sit."

"Huh?" was all that came from the blonde boy. Anna said nothing, though her sentiments were much the same.

"From what I understand from interviews, they might take some time," the woman explained plainly. "Shall we find a more suitable place to carry this out?"

Both interns were stunned for a second, not quite believing their ears.

"Well?" The Nightmare King's daughter looked at them expectantly. "I understand that your train is coming soon. It would be wise to have it done before that, right?"

Eventually, Kristoff was the one found the voice to speak, "Right. Right. Okay, um, let's see. I think a good place that we can do this is-"

* * *

She didn't lie when she said that she never took interviews. Her father had mandated this, and for once, she had no objection to this. She had no desire to be hounded by the press and their hunger for juicy gossip. She knew that they did follow her discreetly so that they could report on which collection her current outfit was from and the so-and-so who designed it, but that was it. Unlike the actual Imperial family of Ameripan, whose every move was relentlessly recorded and tracked by news channels twenty-four-seven, the 'royals' of Burgeshima enjoyed a deal of privacy. It was, of course, mostly due to her father's iron grip over the press agencies of the town, which though unethical was sometimes useful.

That said, her lack of experience in front of the camera now made this situation even more uncomfortable. She hadn't really thought it through when she had agreed to this activity. Then again, she couldn't really think properly while sitting three feet away from her birth sister, who had yet to be fully aware of their relationship.

"Could I have your honest opinion?"

Elsa blinked. She glanced at the blonde reporter boy, who was still amidst the process of setting up his three cameras (she never thought a person would need so many), along with a long feather-duster looking object that he had fitted over their heads. Had the interview started already?

"My hair." Anna flapped her hands in front of her face in a manner that was rather comical. "How does it look?"

Elsa let out an inward sigh of relief. "Oh." She scanned the girl's hairdo as requested by her and it struck, as it did the first time she saw them, how well those braids fitted her birth sister. Such youthful optimism. Such child-like radiance. "It's fine. You look beautiful."

"Oh." This unexpected compliment brought a blush to Anna's cheek and she babbled, "Thank you, you're beautifuller." Then it hit her that she might have just invented a word. "I mean, not that you're fuller, but you're-" clearing of throat "-more beautiful."

Elsa giggled at the blunder despite herself. "Thank you."

"We're good to go," Anna's partner called out to them. His name had always escaped her – Chris? Klaus? "You girls ready?"

Her secret birth sister was certainly ecstatic. "I was born ready!"

Her own answer was considerably more subdued, "I suppose so."

"Okay, we're rolling in three, two-"

It wasn't as bad as she thought it's be, actually. Anna had truly grown over from the little toddler that she had known ages ago, for she was surprisingly apt in easing her into the conversation, starting from lighter topics then heading into the more complex questions. The knowledge that the cameras were angled such that her face couldn't be seen did give her more confidence in speech, though she supposed her father would recognize her if he ever saw this anyway.

Yet, she couldn't bring herself to care right now. Though she realized the precarious state she was in, between doing a deed explicitly forbidden by her father and having her identity possibly discovered by her birth sister, it had been ages since she had been encouraged to freely express her opinions and the feeling was oddly refreshing.

"Crime Syndicates in Burgeshima: Guilty or Inevitable?"

"Both," came her prompt reply. "Perhaps at one point the syndicates had been the initiators of crime, but now, a good part of Burgeshima's economy now run on the black market. Even ordinary citizens come to rely on it for their daily bread. Disrupting the current system would lead to a great deal more suffering, anarchy and - believe it or not – crime."

"This might be a little blunt, but you think this reason might be abused by the syndicates to justify their presence and power over the city?"

She paused to ponder this point, partly because it was a difficult question to answer tactfully, and partly because she could hardly believe her own little sister, who had once announced to her that the sky was 'awake', managed to pose such a salient question. "I don't doubt it at all."

"Wow, thank you for your honesty." Anna's brows raised themselves as she shuffled through her notes. "I never thought someone who had lived in a syndicate all their life would think that way."

"I doubt my opinion would change if I even if I _had_ lived in one my whole life," was her disparaging mutter to herself.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

She wanted to slap herself for letting that escape her lips in front of a rolling camera, especially in front of Anna. But the keen expression from the girl told her that she was not going to get out of answering this question so easily.

So Elsa opted for offhand honesty. "I wasn't born into the Yakuza. I was adopted. It is a tactic to breed loyalty amongst the members – taking in children of young age and brainwashing them to serve the Yakuza regardless of the cost."

"Oh, interesting." By the way the girl drew it out, though, Elsa suspected that she got more from the tidbit than what was meant to be revealed.

The questions moved from the syndicates into the state of the city, then to the return of supers and its impact.

"What do you think of 13?"

She barely needed to think for an answer. "He's a monster."

Anna pulled back slightly as she said that, which was a reaction she didn't expect. Seeming a little confused, the younger girl commented, "That's pretty harsh."

"The rest of Ameripan may not be aware of it, but 13 is known to be quite a nefarious murderer in this town." Elsa grimaced as she spoke. "He kills in ways that are unnecessarily brutal."

"But he only does that to criminals," argued Anna.

"Who is he to decide how each criminal should be judged?"

"That's a little hypocritical coming from you, don't you think?" That snide tone came from behind the camera.

Both young women turned to the blonde boy, with the brunette one looking particularly cross.

"Erm…." Kristoff scratched his head awkwardly. "I'll edit that out."

Elsa watched with interest as her birth sister raised a threatening brow at the boy, as if she expected something more.

The boy sighed as he tapped something on the camera screen. "Yes, and I'll also shut up. Happy?"

This answer proved satisfactory to the interviewer, who resumed the dialogue as if they had not been interrupted, "I do understand your view regarding 13, but perhaps, I don't know-" she shrugged "-it might take a monster to take down monsters, don't you think?"

Elsa opened her mouth to answer, but the word had already attacked her, like a dagger that went straight through her chest.

 _Monster._

* * *

 **"What have you done! This is getting out of hand."**

 **Papa glared at her. Mama pulled her sister from her arms. The snow-filled room that had been glowing with cheer just seconds ago now was filled with doom.**

 **Mama's face was full of worry, which only made her feel worse. She scooped the little body off the ground, turning pale when her fingers touched her daughter's skin. "She's ice cold."**

 **Papa's face, usually so filled with warmth, seemed to have turned hard as he felt her sister's forehead. His gaze that rested on her made Elsa shiver the way the cold never had.**

 **She never realized it then, but it was the first time her parents genuinely feared her.**

* * *

 _Crimson on ice._

 _Iron-tasting air._

" _Drip, drip," went the blood as it dripped down from the icicles overhead onto the puddles below._

 _She hadn't meant for this to happen, but she had been so afraid – afraid of the men with the guns that had stormed into a hotel room._

 _Now, there was this strange-looking man, draped in shadows, asking, "What manner of monster are you?"_

 _And she realized, he was actually talking to her._

* * *

 **"Conceal it."**

 **"Con-conceal it."**

 **The white glove went over her left hand, then its match went over her right.**

 **"Don't feel it."**

 **"Don't feel it."**

 **Papa made sure that she repeated after him, made sure that the words were drilled into her head. It was vital that she remembered this, because he wouldn't be here forever.**

 **"Don't let it show."**

 **"Don't let it show."**

 **And he always asked, "Because what happens if it shows?"**

 **"People will know."**

 **"And what happens when people know?"**

 **And she always answered, "The police will come and take me away from you all forever."**

 **"That's right. Good girl."**

 **He embraced her. It was the last time she ever dared to let him.**

* * *

 _"Sorcery!" the man screeched at her._

 _She flinched back, horrified as she stared down at her icy creation. It had been an accident, and she had been more than apologetic, but their guest did not seem to care._

 _He stabbed a finger at her while his henchmen whipped out their revolvers, loading the clips into the magazines in a single swift, synchronize motion. Before she could breathe out a defense for herself, all the barrels were pointed towards her._

 _"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please," she heard her father call out in a soothing drawl, rising from his seat. Though his demeanor was calm, she could see how his arms tensing up. She herself trembled, and as a result, it began to snow inside the room. "There is no need to get worked up about this."_

 _"You have_ _brought a_ _monster to us," another one of the men shouted to him in nihongo, not realizing that she could understand him. "You have cursed our house and betrayed us."_

 _"Take your witch and leave," her accuser demanded, glaring down at her with fiery eyes. She drew back from the table, tipping over a cup as she did and freezing the liquid before it splattered onto the surface. This further display activity led to the hasty clicking of revolvers._

 _"This is ridiculous," she heard her father mutter, before saying out loud, "If it's her presence that's bothering you, then just get rid of the problem." Then she heard a gun cocking behind her._

 _When she spun around, her father had his pistol held in her direction, his gold-silver eyes accessing her coldly._

 _Then his wrist flicked upwards and his finger moved, bullets flying across the room. When she turned back to look, the straw mats were soaked with red and the room was quiet._

 _The snow fall had ceased and her father had slipped his gun back under his cloak. "Try to avoid this next time," he told her casually while she was trying not to throw up in her hand. "I'd prefer not to have to kill all my business partners just because you get a little emotional."_

 _She couldn't answer, because there were tears-welling up in her eyes. She clutched her arms to chest while her father slid opened the door to the diner, whispering to herself, "Conceal, don't feel,-"_

* * *

"Elsa?"

She jerked her head sharply to her name, heart racing at an abnormal speed as she was met with Anna's concerned gaze.

"You alright? You kind of blanked out for a bit."

She wasn't really listening to her birth sister anymore, because she was staring intently instead at the white streak of hair that ran down the side of the girl's head. Her throat swelled with heaviness.

Pushing herself off the chair, she said to the surprised duo, "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

"But we're still-" Anna protested.

"You can use whatever footage you've gotten." Elsa pulled her coat tightly over her shoulders, folded arms and made her way of the room. "Goodbye."

"You can't just leave in the middle of an interview," the boy intern exclaimed, looking quite alarmed.

"I can, actually, and that's what I'm doing." She glanced at him, then back to her birth sister's, who was clearly distraught by this turn of events "It's been nice seeing you again."

"Wait. No!" Anna was darting up to her again, blocking her path much the same way as she did before. Elsa rolled her eyes, stepping to the right and trying to slip past the girl, but Anna held her arms out. "You're not going anywhere."

"Excuse me?" Elsa gave her best imitation of her father's quiet but angry tone.

"I have questions for you," the girl went on, undaunted, "that have been chewing me on the inside. These questions?" She nodded towards the sheets in her hands, then tossed them carelessly behind herself. "I actually don't care about them. What I really want to ask is-" Elsa tried stepping to the left this time, but Anna was swift enough to bar her way once again "-who are you and where did really we meet?"

"You know full well who I am," the blonde girl answered crossly, her teeth clenched together as she frustratedly tried to push pass her sister. "And you know as well as I that we've just met yesterday."

"No, we haven't," Anna contradicted stubbornly. "I know we've met somewhere before that. I know it. I know _you_."

"You are mistaken," Elsa insisted, finally managing to squeeze pass the girl and made it for the stairway.

But Anna would not give up and darted after her. "And you know me too," the girl continued her tirade, ignoring Elsa's denials as they both descended the steps. "You said that you were adopted, right? I must have known you from before that time."

"That's ridiculous," was her impassive refute.

"What were we? Classmates? Friends? Neighbours?"

"That's quite enough, Anna."

"Were we rivals? Competitors? Enemies? Frenemies even? How do we know each other?"

"I said _enough_!"

She didn't freeze the entire stairway, but she could have. She could feel the emotions churning inside her chest, ramming against every part of her and begging to be released. But she clenched her gloved hands by her side and murmured the mantra under her breath, _"Conceal, don't feel, don't let it-"_

"Gloves."

This interruption threw Elsa off course and she faced the girl who standing a step apart from her. Slowly, Anna descended another step, putting them but a breath's distance apart.

Then the younger girl said, "My sister wore gloves a lot too."

 _No. No. This could not be happening…_

"I never knew why she started on it. My parents told me she was sick, and that's why she needed them. That's why I couldn't play with her anymore," Anna went on. Her voice started to shake, but she didn't stop there. "When I was eight, we thought she died. Here. In this city."

"Where are you going with this?" Elsa asked impassively, though she did know the answer. In her mind, she prayed with all her might that she would not reach the right conclusion. _Please, please, don't let her._

Turquoise eyes, usually full of cheer, seemed to pierce right through her soul. A swallow, a quiet question –

"You are her, aren't you?"

There was a part of her that had given up, who knew that further pretense was foolish – a part of her that wanted to confess and reconnect to the family that she had separated herself for ten years. But like the gloves over her hand, her memories framed her mind to stubbornness as she remembered the truth that she had told her father years ago when she found out that her birth parents had passed on, which she had said to her father just the night before.

 _If Anna knew, she would never leave._

And if Anna never left, she would always be in danger. If not from the city, if not from her father, it would from her – the ice-forming monster who had almost killed her once before.

"You're confused," she told the girl dismissively without so much as a bat of an eyelid. "Your conclusion makes no sense."

"It does," Anna shot back, unwavering. "You have blue eyes like her, and white-gold hair like her, and-" pointing at the covered hands "-like wearing gloves, _like her_."

"That proves nothing," she rebutted scornfully. "Plenty of people out in the world have white-gold hair and blue eyes and enjoy wearing a fine pair of gloves"

"You live in the city where my family last saw her."

"Many people live in this city. You can't imagine that everyone here might be your missing sister, can you?"

"You look around same age as her."

"As would anyone else who's turning twenty-one this year."

"You look almost exactly like my mother." The girl pulled out her phone, tapping the screen rapidly then shoving the device into Elsa's face, making her flinch back. It was a family photo, taken after her supposed death, and they were sitting out on a beach, smiling warmly but none too enthusiastically (save Anna, of course, who was absolutely delighted). Though her hair was the mousy brown Elsa remembered, the face of the only maternal figure she had ever had in her life, which had become a blur in memories, did indeed share startling similarities to her own face.

But Elsa quickly shrugged off her shock, pulling on a mask of coolness. "This is getting quite irritating. You are delusional and, frankly,-" placing a hand on her hip with an emphatic nod "-quite creepy. If you don't stop harassing me, I will not hesitate to set my guards on you. If you can find some decency inside of you,-" her eyes gleamed as she spoke, _"-leave me alone."_

It was as if she had stabbed Anna in the gut and twisted the knife for good measure. 'Stricken' was too kind a word to describe the girl's crumpled expression – it was more like 'crushed', or 'devastated', or 'completely and utterly betrayed'. A pang of guilt thumped under the façade of steeliness and Elsa swept herself around, not willing herself to soak in anymore emotions before she did something that she regretted.

Not that she hadn't already.

"Fine then," she heard Anna breathe out behind her. Against her own sensibilities, Elsa turned back to look at her and found the girl white with fury as she made her way back up the stairs. "If you want me to go, I'll go. But you know the truth as well as I do. You're not bluffing anyone."

With a stamp of finality, the girl disappeared around the curve. Elsa sighed, slumping herself against the stair railing. When she gazed down at her hand, she realized to her horror that some of the ice managed to leak out from her gloves, wrapping itself on the metal grooves of the rail. She quickly brushed it off, letting it fall like flakes to the ground and melt on the steps below. She then made her way down to the ground floor, where the guards she had chastised earlier were waiting for her.

"Have my car prepared for me," she ordered in _nihongo,_ trying to quell the sadness that had suddenly come over her.

The two men nodded, before running forward to have arrangements made. She followed after them, but paused as she passed one of the statues standing in a corner of the cloisters. Out of all the Italian names and plaques that decorated the saints of the holy house, this was the only one with a French title. It was said to have been commissioned and donated to the cathedral by a wealthy French family of attendees in the mid-1970s when a terrible epidemic had hit the city. It depicted a woman in armor with a sword raised in silent, sorrowful triumph. Its plaque read, _"St. Jeanne D'Arc, La Purcelle d'Orleans."_

Joan of Arc. She used to be Anna's favorite heroine. Every time she passed the statue in the church, she always thought of the little girl with plaits who would sit under the painting of the martyred warrior and talk to it as if they were friends.

Elsa had never feared loneliness, but the same could not be said of Anna. Anna lived to love and be loved. With their blood parents gone now, how did she survive?

The blonde girl sighed. If there was a point of time that Anna had considered her as her hero, the way little sisters did to older ones, she no longer did so.

Elsa pulled herself away from the statue just in time to witness a long wooden bench fly from the pews straight into a glass window, its resounding shatter barely blotting out the screams that followed.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **CLIFFHANGER! MUAHAHAHAHA!**

 **In case there's any confusion, this is the sequence in which Merida teleported (or was transported to) with locations written like (this):**

 **Litwak's Arcade - Dressing Boutique - Litwak's Arcade - (Through mysterious door) Sumin Hill - Dressing Boutique**

 **Litwaks's Arcade and Sumin Hill were both places that Hiccup was at in Chapters 18 and 20 respectively. The little girl in Litwak's Arcade that Merida met is Vanellope.**

' _ **Nihongo'**_ **means 'Japanese' in Japanese. Any other Japanese used in this chapter is all from Google-Translate. If you know Japanese and spot errors, please let me know how to amend it.**

 **I had to think for quite a bit on what exactly would make Anna recognize Elsa after their long estrangement, and I figured the two things that would really click would be the gloves and how much Elsa looks like their mum – because really, she's almost exactly a brunette version of her mum.**

 **Up Next: I admit that I'm pretty excited to write this chapter. Expect about of action sequences. Oh yeah.**

 **Oh, wait. I just remembered that my greatest weakness in writing is action. Oops.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **This chapter is 12,000 words. I've a feeling that I might have a hard time keeping the numbers any lower. Grrrgh.**

 **Guest Mailbox:**

 **Guest (Dec 11 with review in Spanish): I google-translated your review and I think the translation said "How did you come out with this story? I'm curious!" So I'm going to answer that. I assume that you can read English, considering how far into the story you managed to go.**

 **Honestly, a lot of the ideas I get for this story come from the comics I used to read in my teens, as well as the superhero movies and tv-series that I still watch, then I combine these ideas from the original movies themselves. E.g. The other of Jack being an alien was actually taken from The Guardian of Childhood Books (if I followed these books, at least 3/5 of the Guardians would be aliens, actually), the idea of immortality and losing memories from ROTG movie and the idea of him being from another planet from Superman. To be honest though, while I have a lot of the backstory worked out, the main plot is something that I kind of make up as I go (which is why it might be a little…incoherent at times.) Thanks for asking, though. When I complete this story, I might make a 'making-of' chapter to explain how this story was created.**

 **Guest (Dec 11): Yeah! Looking forward to seeing Tooth in action too.**

 **Hoped you had a nice read, folks! Wishing you a good day, wherever you are.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	24. Chpt 23: O, when the AssassinMercenary

Chapter 23: O, when the Assassin/Mercenary/Doomsday-Machine Comes Marching In

At this point of time, it must come to your attention that there were a good deal of legendary figures in Burgeshima. Indeed, this town for some reason drew many extraordinary individuals, so I hope that you might indulge me if I share another of these with you.

His name meant 'Great Dragon' in certain Chinese dialects and he wasn't born in Burgeshima at all. In a matter of fact, he had only moved there after escaping from prison eight years ago, hiding himself in the corrupted law system and the criminal community.

It was said that once long ago, during the Golden Age of Supers, he was a potential candidate for greatness. Indeed, his prowess in the arts of Kung Fu had been observed from a young age and he had been trained with legendary masters. But as it often happened, plans went astray - one denial, one betrayal, one hour of absolute confusion and purposelessness. Those all in consecutive order often were the perfect ingredient for a man to take one step into the darkness.

And fall in the rest of the way.

Attempts to achieve his supposed destiny by force had failed and the thieves of his honour placed him onto the train into oblivion. While he had been locked behind chains, bars and laser beams, the world had created smartphones, Google and the Paleo diet. The fighting technique that he had developed himself was largely unbeatable, but no number of blows, kicks and paralytic strikes could let him turn back time.

The days of becoming a hero would never come. The days of being a supervillain too had been taken from him. His reputation had been sullied by his defeat and age had worn his energy to concoct any more grand schemes. As with many who had come to the mid-point of their life, he had bills to pay and debts to fulfil. So he did what any sensible martial arts master with questionable morals would do - kill for hire.

Though, sometimes, he also did it for fun. This was one of those times.

Watching the mournfully-dressed folks depart from the gloomy church and shuffle pathetically down the cobbled steps, Tai Lung, formerly known as the 'Scourge of the Valley' in his hometown; did not let a single detail escape his keen eyes.

He had been sitting early in the morning with the other beggars, shabby coat draped over his shoulders and his head bent. He had counted the number of feet that had crossed his spot - feet that approached the cathedral and feet that departed it. He also counted the number of black-suited men that had passed him by. There were four outside the cathedral right now and ten inside. The four outside carried submachines. As for those inside, five carried machine pistols, three automatics and two ARs.

To be honest, though, all these firearms would not actually make a difference to him.

Now, while the leather shoes clacked their way down the stones, Tai Lung counted the pittance that had been dropped in his cup - two quarters, a dime and a copper coin of indeterminate currency. He poured them into his palm, closing them in his fist as he rose to his feet. Straightening the hunch that he had adopted, it was replaced with the rigid posture of pride and power.

He pushed past the leaving throng, earning dirty looks from the finer dressed folks. He also threw off the shabby coat - it wasn't his in the first place – revealing his large arms and the coloured tattoos that decorated them. On his left arm, there was a detailed image of a white leopard on a mountainous backdrop, with its fangs sunken into the neck of bleeding gazelle. On the right one was an image of a Chinese dragon, coiled around the fleshy expanse between his shoulder and his wrist. It had been the first tattoo that he had gotten, in a time when he had still believed that his destiny had been to soar the skies, not to scrape the dirt of the Earth. He ascended the stairs, sliding two of the coins between his fingers as he did.

The reveal of his skin-marking did not go unnoticed by one of the suited gangsters, who stepped down from his post, brandishing his submachine warily. His comrades turned to their direction to, watching on more in curiosity than anticipation. In accented tone that revealed that English was not his first language, the gangster asked him, "Who're you, dog?"

A snort escaped Tai Lung's lip as he rubbed the coins between his fingers. In his native tongue, he muttered _,_ _"Nǐ de èyùn_ _."_

The Nightmare's brow shot up, puzzled. "What?"

When a person uttered the word _'What'_ , there was a brief moment where the mouth would open into a jaw-dropped _'O'_ shape on the _'ah'_ sound – the teeth would part and the tongue resting at the base of the mouth. And in that split second, Tai Lung flicked his wrist. The dime flew into the man's mouth, lodging itself at the back of his throat.

The Nightmare grabbed at his neck, gagging audibly and eyes rounded shocking. As one of his brothers-in-arms darted forward in panic, Tai Lung merely shoved the choking ruffian backwards, crashing him into the charging soldier and throwing them both off course.

The other two on guard had sprung into action, opening fire. Both leaving church attendee and beggars alike fled the staircase, screaming and shrieking as the bullets flew. Tai Lung had already anticipated this and crouched himself down, fist pressed against the ground he mapped his next move. On fours, he leapt up the remaining stairs under the fire, prowling like a feline as he flung the next coin – the quarter - up into the air, straight into the metal spray.

One of the bullets ricocheted against the coin with _'clink_ _'_ , flying straight into the eye of its shooter and out from the back of his head. The hoodlum collapsed limp to the ground.

While his partner was distracted by this, Tai Lung flung the tiny copper coin straight through the barrel of the last submachine. When the Nightmare pressed his trigger once again, there was only one warning _'click'_ before the submachine exploded in his face. With a yell, the thug fell back, clutching his eyes. Tai Lung jumped forward and pummelled him in the chest, earning a scream over the cracking of ribs through the body armour. The martial artist gave a dismissive sniff at the pathetic action just as he sensed movement behind him.

Without even needing to think, the last coin flew from Tai Lung hand, spinning rapidly like the blades of a chainsaw. It soared through the air, twirling, twirling, twirling…

Just as the wounded Nightmare raised his gun, the coin sliced him straight across the neck. The white collar of the dress shirt soaked in the crimson liquid as the soldier clutched at the gushing wound, wheezing as he tumbled onto the steps, eyes stilled.

Tai Lung smirked wryly as he yanked the submachine from the weak, blood-stained hands. "See you all in hell. Eventually."

With the weapon in his hands, he stepped forward into the cathedral. The door was drawn closed, but he kicked against it, tearing it off its hinges before flying smack into the wall. His act did not go unnoticed by those within the building, who had not seemed to have heard the shooting outside. Mouths hung open and eyes were brimmed with fear.

And he loved every second of it.

Holding the submachine up, Tai Lung bellowed, "I'm here for the Nightmare King's Daughter. The rest of you – OUT!"

With the chance at mercy, people scrambled off their seats and hurried towards the doors – or door, since one of them had turned into splinters and was currently decorating the chapel of Santa Catarina.

Of course, it wasn't two seconds after he had spoken when the first shots were taken against him. Agility was a close ally of his though, so he leapt easily out of the way, ducking behind the pews as he assessed the position of his assailant. The shooter was on the second floor – one of the AR15 bearers. Waiting for the gunman to exhaust his round, Tai Lung then straightened himself up, calculated between his position and the gallery. He then curled his fist up together, twisted himself into position and struck his foot against the ground.

The ground shuddered under the force, splitting the floorboards into crooked splinters while tipping a pew bench towards him. He kicked the wooden piece of furniture up with the ball of his foot, launching two consecutive jumping kicks– one to throw it up further into the air and the other shoot it forward. Like a rocket, the long wooden bench flew up towards the gallery floor of the cathedral and there was a loud crash as it slammed through the concrete and into the chest of the shooter. It didn't stop there, continuing on the path of it trajectory and crashing through the large glass window, making the remaining civilians in the church scream as the large glass fragments spilled over from the gallery floor down to the nave.

He heard a cry in Japanese behind him and spun around to find two blacksuits racing down aisles of the church, drawing back the slides of their pistols and preparing to fire. He dropped the submachine in his hand, because it was absolutely useless to him.

Instead, he drew both of his arms back, tensed up the joints along his wrist and fingers before throwing his weight forward, simultaneously ramming against one of the benches. This bench was flung backwards, striking the bench behind itself, which too was flung backwards and also it the one behind it, and so forth until one of the benches rammed itself into one of the Nightmares, whose body soared through the air before striking the stone wall head first.

To counter the other, Tai Lung ripped off the top half of another set of benches and spun it over his head to catch momentum, then hurled it towards the soldier. The Nightmare fell immediately on impact, with the pistol clattering uselessly on the ground.

Tai Lung smirked at his victory until he heard - "How dare you!"

He turned around to find not a Nightmare, but a stout fellow in robes – likely a priest. Red with rage, the old man shook a fist at him, shouting, "This is a sacred place of worship, not a fight club!"

This guy obviously had no idea what a fight club was and the mercenary didn't have the patience to explain it to him. Taking only a glance at the priest, Tai Lung stabbed the two fingers into the side of the priest's chest and he flopped forward, paralysed.

As the mercenary stepped over the fallen body, he noticed through the columns moving figures further down the aisles adjacent the nave. A pair of black-suits grabbed hold of the arms of a young woman, leading her firmly to the ambulatory of the church behind the central altar. A smile stretched itself on across his scarred countenance as he met the eyes of his target.

Clattering of boots against the boards brought his attention back to the present as Nightmares dashed towards him from all directions, surrounding him with arms raised in threat. Their eyes were cold, dead and merciless.

"Stand down and we will make your death painless!" called one of the Nightmares, no doubt the leader of this little body-guarding squad.

Tai Lung chuckled inwards as he took up the appropriate stance, curling up his hands like claws.

While a student under the great masters, he had developed a technique of his own that allowed him to harness the fullness of his strength and speed. This style however was frowned upon for being inconsistent with, and even defiant of, the peaceful nature of Kung Fu. Tai Lung had never understood how on Earth a fighting form was supposed to be peaceful, so against the will of his masters, he had continued to hone it, sharpen it, practice it, until every move was so deeply-embedded into his person that removing it would essentially remove the core of his identity.

It was a style so deadly, so efficient, so _perfect_ , that it was said that militaries across the world had studied footages of his attacks in attempt to replicate it. But they never could, for Kung Fu could never be practiced in the body without being too in the mind.

And in Tai Lung's mind, he was the hero.

In stories, heroes always won.

* * *

You remembered how Kristoff had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen once they entered here?

Well, after he heard some crazy dude with tattoos and a gun shouting for the 'Nightmare King's Daughter', he knew that he was absolutely right. _Again_.

This was starting to get annoying.

While he was halfway through packing his DSLR, he heard an explosive rattle coming from the other end of the gallery. Crouching down immediately and locking his hands over his head, Kristoff was only slightly relieved to see that the suited gangster was pointing his machine pistol downwards, towards the central nave. 'Slightly relieved' only, because whether or not the gun was pointing at him, his prediction had come true and they were still caught in the middle of some gang fight. In a _church_. Who'd figure?

"Kristoff!" He swung his head in the direction of the call without stopping his actions. His crazy partner was back, appearing flushed and shaken by the on-goings, or maybe it was because of the confrontation she had had with the Nightmare King's daughter. He wondered how that had gone, but curiosity was decidedly suppressed, given the circumstances.

Breathless, she stopped in front of him. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping these," he answered in a jittery tone as he hurriedly stuffed the pieces into their compartments, glancing up every now and then to check on the crossfire. "And no. There's no way I'm leaving my cameras behind. I paid too much for them."

"That's not what I meant," Anna said, sounding aghast as she kneeled next to him. Instead of helping to pack, she began pulling out the wires and the cords, reversing all that he had done. "You should be filming this!"

His jaw hit the floorboard. "WHAT?"

"We have an inside view to the armed conflict between warring crime syndicates," Anna hissed at him just as the gunfire let up. Kristoff glanced at the gunman nervously to find that he was not dead, but simply reloading a clip into the magazine. The longer they stayed, the worse this was going to get. "This would be an awesome story if we could get this online!"

"This is suicide! And give me that." He snatched the tripod stand from her hands, undoing the locks and collapsing it down to it smaller form before sticking it back in his bag. "We need to get out of here before everything else goes-"

 _SPPPPIIIIISHHHHHHHHHCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK_!

The deafening crash knocked the both of them backwards, with the concrete parapet smattered into pieces. Before their very eyes, they watched as long wooden bench shot through the parapet, smashed into the gunman and carried him right through the glass window.

Both the interns shielded their eyes and heads as glass shards shattered around them. Kristoff hissed as he noted the scratch he had earned on his forearm. Clenching his teeth together, he swung back to stuff all the equipment into the bag – who cares if the wires got tangled – but he realized that the GoPro was not in its slot. "Where is that-"

"This is Anna Arendelle reporting on sight" he heard by his side and saw the girl leaning back against a pillar, holding the small camera at arms-length, pointed at herself. Jerking her chin behind her, she said, "Right now, I'm in the Santa Maria Cathedral in Burgeshima, where a shootout is taking place."

Kristoff scowled, reaching for the camera in her hands. "Anna, stop. There's no time for this."

"Just a minute ago," Anna shifted the GoPro out of his reach, continuing to address the lense, "some random tattoo guy carrying a machine gun-"

"-submachine," he corrected. His days at browsing weapon encyclopaedias were not completely useless, he supposed. "They look different."

"-just stormed in with some demands that have yet to been made clear-"

"He's actually after the Nightmare King's daughter."

"Wait. What?" The girl suddenly pulled herself away from the camera, giving him her full attention. "He's after Eliz-Elsa?"

"Yes." He grabbed her arm. "Which is why we need to get out of here right now. This is some crazy gang politics that we need to get away – wait, where are you going? Anna!"

She wriggled from his grasp, darting towards the stairwell when a giant concrete chunk came crashing in front of them, followed by the unconscious body of a gangster. The girl screamed at the sight, but immediately grabbed hold of the camera and pointed it at the fallen body.

"This fellow that you see down here is a member of the Nightmare Yakuza. Whoever he was fighting down there has some serious muscle. This is seriously freaky." Her teeth were chattering as she turned the camera back to face herself. "I'm going to see if I can get a good view for your guys on this, though honestly, seeing it in real life is nothing like seeing it through a video."

"Can you stop talking to the camera like that?" Kristoff muttered, eyeing the injured form and wondering if he should help. But then, it was a gangster and it wasn't as if he knew CPR. With the odd way the man's neck was bent, it was doubtful that CPR was going to be of any help anyway.

Anna moved over to the parapet of the gallery, only stopping to grab his selfie stick from his bag ("And stop stealing my stuff! That is not yours!"). Screwing the device quickly to the metal pole, she poked her head over the barricade and pointed the camera into the direction of the fight.

"There – that guy in the centre." She twisted the camera to face her, then pointed out to galley, turning the stick around so that it could follow her finger. "He's the one who started this whole crazy deal – wow, wait a sec." She extended the selfie stick as far as she could, her own eyes fixed on the small screen. "I think I know this guy."

"Really?" Kristoff huffed, scampering over to her side. "Just like you knew who the mobster's daughter was?"

"I _do_ know who she is," Anna retorted, shooting an annoyed look at him. "She's my sister."

He was in the midst of trying to grab the pole from her hand when it registered to him what she said. "She's your _what_ now?"

"Pay attention, Kristoff," the girl chided him, before putting on her 'reporter voice'. "If I am not wrong, I believe the initiator of the attack is none other than the famed supervillain, _The_ _Snow_ _Leopard_ , himself." She snorted. "So, this is where he's been at after escaping jail eight years ago."

"The who?" He had to admit that paying attention was harder than he expected, not while he was so jarred at the changed state of the cathedral. The neat and orderly layout of the pews was, replaced with wooden splinters flying all over, smashed concrete decorating the floor and bleeding bodies scattered everywhere. There were still a couple of escapees heading for the door, desperate to avoid the conflict and their shrieks of fear echoed through the halls. Injured innocent scattered around cried for the help of the others, but were ignored as fire and bullets soared through the air.

"The Snow Leopard," Anna continued her commentary as the big burly fellow threw one of the Nightmares into a pillar, causing the base of the pillar to crack and the entire cylindrical structure to crumble, "is a Golden Age supervillain originating from Peace Valley. He known best for his devastation of the Valley in 1986 and being the first antagonist of the famous Dragon Warrior."

"It sounds like you memorized this off Wikipedia or something," the boy murmured, both amazed and aghast.

"He's best known for his 'Leopard Style' martial arts – a powerful form of Kung Fu that can be matched by few in the world."

The girl's narration didn't seem much off. For one, Kristoff did note that the fighting method this large tattooed man adopted was very animalistic, requiring him to bend, flex and shift his body in a fluid flow of pounces, jabs and strikes. Nightmares, though armed to the teeth with their military-grade arms and certainly more dexterous than the average bodyguard, were no match for his superior strength and speed. Kristoff couldn't have sworn that at least once did a ruffian fire at the man straight to the face, but he didn't so much as flinch before charging towards the soldier, roaring in fury.

"One of his signiature moves,-" as Anna went on talking to the camera, Kristoff watched the so-called _Snow Leopard_ – geez, what a name – knock the heel of his palm into his foe's chin and snapping his head back, killing him instantly, "-is known the 'nerve attack'."

The fight didn't stop there though.

Oh, no. Apparently The force of his strike threw the soldier smack up into the heavy metal chandelier dangling over the nave. A chandelier which hanging on the level of the gallery floor.

The gallery floor which both of them were standing on.

"The nerve attack has been long purported to be a myth created by the film industry to make martial arts seem more mystical. Previous victims of Tai Lung however have been claimed that he has ever performed such a move on them."

Have you ever seen Newton's Cradle? You know, that structure of the five steel balls hanging from a crossbar that you wind up seeing at the most basic science museums, or the even more basic and boring physics class? Well, think of the flying body that hit the chandelier as the ball that you pulled up on one end and let go so that it could hit the ball next to it. In the case of the dead Nightmare's body hitting the chandelier though, there were no three balls two act as a buffer, so the chandelier swung exactly in the opposite direction that the body had struck it to -

"The basis of this attack is that by pressing hard and quick on certain 'pressure points' in the body, you can paralyse a person insta- _AHHHHHH_!"

-which was the two pre-tween standing on the gallery.

Before Kristoff could even scream as his partner did, he was hurled back by the wrecking ball of a chandelier. He yelped when he landed lopsided, with his hip slapping the ground first. He yelped again as the stones pelted down on him, gasping as one particularly large stone punched him in the gut and crying out when he felt something clamping down his leg.

Wiping the dust from his eyes and prying them open, Kristoff groaned He could feel the bruise forming on his abdomen and hissed when he accidentally moved his leg. Glancing down at himself, he sat himself up, noting the curved shape stone that sat on his shin. Clenching his teeth, he pushed against the stone. It was a good deal heavier than it looked though, so after two slams of his palm, it still refused to budge. "Great."

Then he heard a high-pitched scream and discovered that in all the rubble on the second floor, there was no Anna in sight. In horror, he gazed at the edge of the platform, where the barrier had been battered to pieces. The chandelier, like a pendulum, was swinging already away from the gallery, leaving in its wake an unbarricaded balcony platform. A unbarricaded platform which would have easily permitted a small-sized, skinny girl to roll off its edge.

He heard her scream again, somewhere below the platform and that gave him all the determination he needed to shove that stone off his leg.

"Anna! Hang on!" He hopped up to his feet and his hissed when he felt a pain shoot up his shin. He could feel his bone screaming under the cover of his trousers, but he still hobbled over to the edge, over the smash remnants of the parapet, kneeling himself by that dangerous precipice between acrophobia and plummeting down. Peering over it, he called to her, "Grab my- "

Unlike what he had expected, she wasn't hanging off the edge of the second floor platform.

When Kristoff heard her scream again, he realised that it was actually coming from… in front of him?

Glancing up and away from the looming edge, he saw Anna, gripping onto the selfie stick for dear-life while camera attached to it was trapped between the curved groves of chandelier. The large metal ornament hooked to the central vault continued swinging ominously back and forth, not caring that it was swinging with it a frightened girl.

At a four story drop.

Over a fight involving a deadly martial artist supervillain.

The girl caught his eye and shouted, "Help!"

"Hold on!" he yelled back.

Kristoff scuttled back to the spot where he had last seen his duffle bag, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. He shove away the bricks and hardened mortar, beating off the dirt as he search for another pole, or a tripod stand, or something. For some reason, he couldn't find any of those, but he did find all the cords and wires he had tried to pack up earlier. He undid the bands that held the bundles together, unfolding the wires and straightening them out. To one end of the cord, he knotted it to a camera batteries, trying not to remember how many hours he had to work as a part-time delivery boy to the ice-cream to buy it. If Sven were here, he'd berating him for wasting his money like this.

But desperate times, desperate measures - you know.

Hobbling back towards the edge of the half-shattered gallery, the blonde boy found that the chandelier had mostly ceased its swinging, leaving its victim hovering helplessly in the air. Helpless, but not less talkative.

"This is Anna Arendelle and you can follow me on social media at _annaheartsguardians4ever_. Send me a message or comment and we can hang out if I survive," the girl saying, looking up into the camera trapped in the chandelier while swinging her legs back and forth. She glanced down at the fight below her, then returned her gaze to the screen. "We should probably not 'hang out' literally."

"Anna!" The sound of her name jerked her head towards his direction immediately.

"Oh, that's Kristoff, by the way," she told the camera quite seriously, turning back to it.

"He's going to try save me now, so, yeah, can't talk A.T.M." As an afterthought, she added, "You can follow him at _kristoffheartsreindeers_ if you want. He doesn't actually use social media, so I made an account for him. I've also uploaded a video of him doing a guitar duet with himself when he thought I wasn't looking."

"ANNA!"

"You now have my undivided attention." The girl finally ripped her eyes away from the chandelier for more than five seconds.

Rolling his eyes at her, Kristoff showed her the cord and the battery. "I'm going to try to pull you in. Just hold on and-" he sighed "-stop talking to the camera."

"Great!" She beamed at him with complete confidence, then faced towards the GoPro in propped in the chandelier wires. "Kristoff's made this slingshot thingy that-"

"ANNA!"

She did eventually stop talking to the camera, because the girl's mouth did get dry and after a while of hanging there, her arms were getting tired. Kristoff on the other hand took a few seconds ensure that his knots were tight enough, before finally exhaling and taking his stance. Swinging wire cord around like a lasso, he released it towards the chandelier, letting the expensive and also fragile weight to catch onto the chandelier. He tugged at it and found that it was secure.

"You okay there?" he asked, not because he was concerned or anything. You know, it's kind of polite to check in on a person about to plummet to her own death once in a while.

The girl cast a worried glance down at the fight below, where her plight had yet to be noticed. She then glanced up the selfie stick that her life depended on. With a shaky laugh, Anna said, "Well, I'm told that I'm quite a clingy person."

He wanted to face-palm himself, but his two hands were wrapped around the wire cord, so he focused on trying to pull the chandelier in.

Then he realized one poignant detail he didn't consider.

"Hey, um, Kristoff, not to hurry you or anything," he heard the girl say as the chandelier began twirling about, "but I think – ooooooh-" casting a glance down, then back at him "- my hands are starting to sweat, so… if you could up the speed a bit?"

The chandelier was too heavy and he was not strong enough.

He experimented tugging at the chandelier once more, but instead of bringing it closer to the platform, his own body was yanked forward, threatening to pull him over the edge of the gallery like his partner. This was not going well at all.

"Kristoff?" Any pretence of bravado had vanished and he saw the girl eyeing at him desperately, pleading him with her eyes not to tell her what he had to tell her.

And just then an explosion from below shook the entire cathedral.

Her shriek echoed through the nave as the selfie stick snapped, leaving one broken half in her hand. The boy reached uselessly towards her as she plunged down, his own heart plunging down to his stomach.

"ANNA!"

* * *

"Let me go! I need- "

"Kumicho-sama has ordered us to keep you safe, Ms. Black," the bodyguard cut her off curtly while dragging her away. The other one flanking her left side had his hand pressed against his ear, listening intently to all that was being said by the fighters that were beating off the assassin. "We had taken an oath that we would do so or die."

"My birth sister," Elsa insisted agitatedly. "She's still down there!"

"We cannot help her," the Nightmare told her emotionlessly, forcing her to march forward through the curved loop of the ambulatory. His grip was strong, but she knew that if she wanted to, she could shove him away with a blast of ice and run after Anna. But that would mean an unnecessary public display of her powers. She couldn't risk it, so she crossed her fingers and hoped that her sister and her companion managed to escape when they could. After all, the assassin wasn't after them.

A typical Gothic cathedral was often styled in a cross-formation, which was why they were always oddly rectangular-looking buildings. The nave of the cathedral – the central part where most of the pews were - usually made up the long end of the cross-shape, while the transept – the large, sometimes empty spaces flanking the nave – made up the shorter end. At the end of the nave was often the lectern, where the priest would preach, followed by the main altar, followed by altar, and behind was the ambulatory. This arch-shaped walkway was often flanked by small chapels. The draperies that surrounded it guarded them from the view of their foe for now, which gave them some reprieve. There were no exits or passages here, however, so Elsa wondered why the two guards had dragged her down to this location.

Noting that she no longer struggled in his grasp, the bodyguard finally let go of her arm, telling her not to move from her spot while he and his companion began discussing a plan of escape. While she fingered her gloved her hands and tried to decide what to do, she noticed the small booth for the San Fransoyko Tragedy was still there, only that the candles had long been melted to their bases and the flowers had wilted. Elsa approached with a sigh, trying to neaten up the messy state of the prayer cards and the photographs.

Automatically, her mind recalled the last time that she had been to the little booth, when the bombing at San Fransokyo was still fresh in everyone's mind and a sarcastic young man who had defended the innocence of his so-called 'hero. That same young man whom was on the run for murdering a 'brother' and whom she had told to meet her this day after Mass, in hopes that she could find a way to help him flee the city.

Elsa then narrowed her brows together.

A young man with no allegiance to the Nightmare Yakuza whom could have easily sold her location out to her father's enemies.

Now, it was no secret that she was attended Mass at this church every Sunday morning, but as so it happens, tonight was also the night of the grand yearly gala where the Yakuza celebrated its achievements. That event itself was too no secret.

Though she wasn't a member of the Nightmares, she was her father's daughter and it was expected of her to be involved in the preparation of it. In light of her presumed busyness, it would have thus been more logical to assume that she would be absent from Mass this morning. Unless the White Peacock Triad had received definitely word that she would be here today, they wouldn't have gone through the trouble of hiring an assassin – and a skilled one as this – to come after her.

When she snapped out of her thoughts, she noticed the two of bodyguards crouching by the altar of San Bacco and one of them was hooking a metal box to the wall. Horrified, she marched over to them, screeching, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Creating an exit, Ms. Black," the curt one answered her while his companion turned the dial on the device and checked it against the detonator in her hand.

"Have you no respect?" she fumed at him, reaching forward to grab at the detonator, only for that bodyguard to pull her back. Elsa shoved against him, fury rising, but she forced herself to calm down when she felt her palms starting to burn. In a more level tone, she told him off, "This is a chapel. You can't just blow it up!"

"Priorities, Ms. Black," was the bodyguard's impassive response. A muffled fizzle was heard from his communicator, so he pressed against it to receive the message, turning his gaze from her at that moment. By the dark look on his face, she knew that many of his brothers had fallen in battle.

And then she heard a scream – a girlish scream. And it came again. And again.

Part of her reasoned out with her that it could have been anyone else, but another part of her wasn't going to take the chance.

"Ms. Black!" the bodyguard hollered after her as she dashed away from him, out of the ambulatory, cutting across to the transept of the cathedral where the central altar stood, hiding herself behind one of the pillars.

She could still see the assassin fighting off the remaining bodyguards – two of them left out of the five that had been charged with holding him off. She watched as the large man exchanged blows with one guard, blocking every punch that the Nightmare sent him before sending a flurry of blows towards his foe's face, then to his chest, before ending him off him with smattering kick in the head. Elsa blanched when she heard the skull crack with a loud 'scrunch' and guilt pooled in her gut. She was well aware that her guards were not good men and that they had done terrible things in the name of the Nightmare Yakuza, but nonetheless, they were risking their lives for her. For her father's sake, yes, but it was still her life. Their blood was on her hands.

She heard the scream again and this time she looked up. Her heart almost stopped when she saw Anna's legs kicking in the air, herself struggling to hold onto that … stick thing that kept her latched to the chandelier. How she could have gotten in that position, Elsa had no idea, but she knew that her birth sister would not survive the drop.

Letting out a breath, she scanned around her for a corner, for a drape, for anything that she could hide behind to change into her alternate identity. But all the confession booths had been tipped over. The draperies had been torn down. Worse of all, the two guards that she had left behind at the ambulatory had followed her and were now too hiding themselves behind the pillars as not to draw attention to themselves. With them looking directly at her, there was no way that she could transform.

"Ms. Black." The one who spoke to curt now sounded more pleading tone, urging her, "Please, for Kumicho-sama's sake."

She hesitated, but not for the reasons they thought she did.

If she did change into her 'Jack Frost' identity in front of them, her two guards – if they survived, and she genuinely hoped they would – would tell her father and he would explode like a super nova of pure fearsome fury. When he was like that, she couldn't be sure what he would do to her. If she didn't change into the ice costume, however, Anna would know it was her that had come running to save her, and it would be beyond all doubt that she did care about her long estranged birth sister. If that was so, Anna would never leave this dangerous, deadly city.

The time for her deliberate over her dilemma drew to a close, for it just happened that the bomb attached to the wall of the San Bacco chapel behind the main altar detonated, shaking the entire cathedral. It so happened that this was timed at moment the assassin flung the last of the guards that had battled him towards the altar, letting him be consumed in the blast.

And the girl hanging off the chandelier also had lost her hold.

 _Think, Elsa!_ The falling form of Anna was not one that she associated with happiness – in fact, it was much rooted in trauma and regret. Fortunately, the two were powerful emotions that proved a powerful fuel for her powers and she barely had time to rip her gloves off her hands before a blue light shot out from her hand.

In a blink, the entire nave was flooded in a sea of fluffy ice and Anna's scream was cut off to a surprised _'ommphff'_. Elsa hurried forward, carefully avoiding the bits of rubble that lay everywhere. Climbing up the small hill that had formed in the centre of the cathedral, her heart steadied when she saw her sister sitting in the bed of snow, looking extremely baffled.

"Wow," was the first thing the girl with twin braids uttered as she sat there, bottom half of her body under the white cover. "I did not see that coming." She then noticed Elsa standing at the foot of the snow hill. "Oh, you." Then her eyes narrowed to Elsa's still glowing hands. "Wait, are you the one who-"

"No time," Elsa cut her off, clambering hurriedly up the slope. The entire back of the cathedral had started smoking after the blood and in the corner of her eye she spotted flickers that threatened to grow into more. She grabbed her sister by the elbows and hauled her out of the ditch. "We need to get out of here before-"

The snowy ground below suddenly burst open and a figure leapt from it, throwing them both back at the same time. Elsa yelped as she was tossed down the slope, hissing when her head struck against the overturned metal lectern.

Anna had been a bit fortunate in how she landed, which was still on the soft snow ground. Where she landed, however, was the problem, because when all she needed to do was push herself off the ground and she was looking upwards at the growling sneer of the assassin.

Chuckling uneasily, Anna tried to crawl back but the assassin grabbed her by the scruff of her coat, lifting her off the floor as if she were nothing but a doll. She flailed, yelling, "Let go!"

"Are you the freak who made this-" the assassin gestured hotly at the snow flood, then rubbed the frost out of his hair "-winter wonderland?" He shook her by her coat, making the girl cry out in shock. "Are you trying playing hero? Because you should know-" his voice dropped several decibels as he brought his cruel, twisted face towards Anna's pale one "-I'm the only hero around here."

"Put. Her. Down."

Both the heads of the assassin and her sister turned towards her as Elsa picked herself off the ground, drawing herself up straight and proud. She looked straight into the yellowed eyes of her hunter and tried to steel her nerves. " _Breathe_ ," she recalled her father's advice. _"Don't let them know your fear."_

 _Don't let them in. Don't let them see._

"Ah." The assassin dropped Anna, collapsing to flop rather unceremoniously on the snow-packed ground. The girl clambered up to her knees and Elsa was thankful that she seemed relatively unhurt. The large man however was now advancing towards _her_ , with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "This must the daughter of the Nightmare King herself." A guttural laugh rumbled at the back of his throat. "You are lovely as they say - nothing like the old man though."

"The White Peacock sent you to kill me," she said not as a question but an accusation. Though her mien was fierce, Elsa found herself stepping back. After living so many years with the King of Fear itself, it seemed hilarious that she would fear anyone else. But this assassin had striked down so many of her father's best men in a fighting style she had never seen before, and his cool, confident manner rattled her more than she would like to admit.

"Shen-" the assassin barked a laugh, swinging back his tattooed arms in a stretching motion "-merely presented the request to me. I offered to do it for free."

"Why?" she questioned coolly, though she honestly didn't really care about the answer. She just needed to give her bodyguards, who were hopefully still hiding behind the pillars, enough time to get a good shot at their foe.

"Why I'm doing it for free, or why I'm going to kill you?" was the follow up question, spoken in an amused tone as he marched towards her.

"Both, I suppose," Elsa answered, continued to step backwards, drawing the assassin closer and closer to the position where her bodyguards were hiding.

"Well, I owe Shen for helping me to get into this city, and it's nice to have some folks who don't turn their nose up at you just because you can't speak Japanese." The assassin snorted, cracking his knuckles while he moved closer and closer to her. "Also, I don't exactly like your father."

"If you had not tried to usurp him, he would have been more welcoming towards you." The longer she looked at him, the more familiar he appeared. He had aged since his last appearance at the _shiro_ , but it was beyond doubt that this one had at some point he had worked for her father. She remembered the name – Tai Lung. She also remembered his bold tattoos – the snow leopard and the dragon. Those tattoos, her father demanded to be removed and replace with crest of the black horse. That was an ultimatum a creature like Tai Lung was too proud to obey.

"Your father-" derision dripped on every syllable, "-is a coward who hides behind his wealth and his pathetic, parasitic powers. He has no true gifts or skills or mastery." He moved towards one of the benches, grabbing the backrest and tearing it off the hinges with a loud _'RIIIPPP_!' He grinned when he noted how the girl's pupil dilated and her hands trembled, wielding it as if it was a machete. "He doesn't deserve to control this city."

She raised a brow. "And you do?"

"I am a self-made man with an incredibly valuable skill-set," the assassin said with a casual shrug. "I can't see why not."

"Well, you are skilled in strength and speed, I'll give you that," Elsa said, moving herself directly behind the two pillars. As she had expected, her two bodyguards had been waiting there for her to get in position, with their Glock 18s poised for fire. She turned her gaze quickly back to the nearing assassin so that he wouldn't know what she was looking at. "But you lack strategy and you definitely lack finesse." Crouching down, she screamed, "Now!"

The hiding bodyguards sprung out from their positions and began pelting their enemy with bullet after non-stop bullet, the gears and springs in the weapons churning and whirling endlessly as they strove to end him.

The assassin however did not falter or flee. To Elsa's astonishment, she watched as he spun the board in his hand at speeds beyond an ordinary human, deflecting every bullet that flew his way. From a cry behind, she knew that one guard had been hit from a ricocheting projectile. This earned a hearty roar of triumph from Tai Lung and he advanced towards her, eyes gleaming bright as he spun his wooden shield.

The last living bodyguard – the curt one who had pleaded her escape before – tightened his hold on his trigger and shouted to her now, " _Jikko_!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Ducking down to avoid the bullet spray, Elsa rolled across the ground before climbing to her feet. Going back upstairs would essentially trap her with her killer, for the two stairways were far away from the nave exit. The walls of ambulatory have all crumbled under the blast, so she couldn't return to hide there. That meant that she had no choice but to make it for the exit right at the end of a nave.

Outrun a skilled assassin? No pressure there at all.

Grabbing her skirt, Elsa darted down the aisles of the church, all the side chapels a blur in her vision, casting only one glance behind her when she heard the shooting stop. The assassin had knocked the pistol from the hands of the bodyguard, who retaliated swiftly by whipping out a _kaiken_ and stabbing it at the larger man. But Tai Lung dodged that strike easily, grabbing the bodyguard's hand, jabbing against his wrist and twisting it back. The bodyguard was forced to drop the curved knife with a cry of pain. The assassin continued twisting the Nightmare's arm, making him kneel on the floor in his agony. With a smudge grin, the assassin then grabbed his Nightmare's head and _'snap'_ – he was gone. All her guards were dead.

Elsa swung her head forward and hastened her pace.

Just as she was nearing the exit, the assassin dropped smack in front of her out of nowhere, blocking her way. She had expected that he might eventually catch up with her, but clearly she underestimated him.

"Going somewhere?" Tai Lung smirked at her.

Without waiting to answer, Elsa spun around and darted in the opposite direction, eager to put as much distance as possible between her and the killer. But he was far too fast and she didn't make it past two thirds of the nave before he, leaping from pillar to pillar (so that's how he caught up with her), came slamming down on the concrete tiles just two feet from her, prompting her to make ninety-degree turn and head for the snow-covered nave instead.

"There's nowhere you can run!" She heard him guffaw behind her and swerved just in time before a large bench could pin her to the wall. That said, she wasn't able to miss the large candlestick that was thrown at her.

"Gghhh!" was all that escaped her lips as she tumbled ungracefully onto the ground. A burning smart was screaming on her spine and she could feel the searing rip of her skin being torn off her flesh. Pushing herself to a sitting position, she reached a hand behind her to touch her back. When she brought the palm back to her face, she found it drenched in bright red.

"Well, well," she heard him march towards her, each step like a crack of thunder, "who's the one lack strategy and finesse now?"

Elsa appraised him for all that he was – from at his blood-stained rags to his countenance marked with bloodlust – and she was afraid. But her father had not spent years beating the pacifist out of her for nothing.

Raising the bloodied hand towards her assailant, Elsa released all the emotion that she had buried inside. First there was a glow, then – _SHHHRRREEEEIIIIICCCCCKKKKKKKK_!

The ice blast threw him all the way across the nave, past the crossing and straight to the wrecked remnants of the podium. Elsa was exhaling as she pushed herself back up to her feet, prying the chunk off the blood frozen to her hand as she gazed down the cathedral. The long line of ice spikes protruding from the floor make her feel sick and she could feel bad memories knocking on the door of her mind. But adrenaline kept her mind focused as she charged towards her stunned enemy. In her hands, she hurriedly crafted the first weapon that came to mind – a _katana_. Holding it over her head, she leapt up towards the fallen assassin, but before she could bring the blade down, a blow struck her straight in the stomach, tossing her back.

Elsa grimaced when her bleeding back struck the floor, but she pushed herself back up, jumping up to her feet. Her foe too was on his feet to, circling her with a gleam in his eye.

"So, she does take after her father, it seems," he said with a taunting sneer, wiping the bit of blood from his lip. "And in the most freakish, monstrous way possible."

"I'm not a monster," the blonde girl told him, shifting her stance to face him. Lifting her ice-katana, she poised herself to strike. "I'm not the one who just wreaked carnage on a holy place."

Tai Lung gave a hearty cackle at that, rolling back his shoulders and cracking his neck. "Is there that much of a difference? If people came in here right now and saw all this-" he waved wildly to the ice behind him, which had started to climb the columns of the building, reaching towards the vaults of the cathedral "-if they saw all that you can do, do you think that they would see you any different from how they see me?"

Elsa couldn't trust herself to answer, so she bit in the inside of her lip while brandishing her ice blade – a blade that Tai Lung could probably crush in the palm of his hand.

"The world prefers to celebrate mediocrity," he continued on, dismissively kicking the snow one off his feet. "It gives badges and stickers to the ones who get a little over average, but to the geniuses? To the talented? To the powerful? To the _real_ Supers?" An animalistic growl emerged from his throat, sending chills down her bleeding spine. "It boxes them up. It forces them into hiding. It treats them like _monsters_."

"That's because some Supers _are_ monsters," Elsa answered bluntly, feeling herself quiver even as she spoke bold words. "Monsters who abuse their abilities and hurt people for their own ends."

"Sounds like your father," Tai Lung pointed out in amusement.

"I never said that I agreed with all his actions," she shot back.

"Really? Then you might be glad that to know that Shen plans to destroy your father, and the entire Nightmare Yakuza too."

Elsa cocked a brow at him with all the bravado she could muster. "What's new?"

"Well, let's just say that this time, he's got quite a bit of luck on his side," the assassin said, stepping on to a loose glass fragment on the ground. He gazing down on it, he kicking it up until it landed in his hand. Toying with the long shard, he went on, "He's finally come up with something that can kill your father."

"Or something he [thinks] can kill my father," Elsa put in snidely.

"Oh, I think this one would finally do the trick. Third time's the charm, don't they say?" Tai Lung grinned toothily at her.

"And you are telling me this because…" she deliberately left a blank.

"Because it's fun to monologue." The assassin shrugged. "That, and I know that you're not going to warn your father."

She cocked her head at him questioningly. "Why's that?"

"Well, according to Shen's plan, you won't be alive very much longer."

He threw the glass shard at her, but her katana made short work of it immediately. But then Tai Lung stamped his foot the ground, throwing up several more shards and shooting them at her. Her blade swung about furiously, deflecting as many of the projectiles as she could.

He suddenly then pushed himself up in the air, shooting up to a good height before gravity pulled him in, giving the strength to slam his fist straight into the ground. Fissures and cracks formed around the area of his strike immediately and the earth burst open, tossing up fragments of concrete in the air. In a swift motion, he jumped into the air and kicked one large concrete boulder in her direction. It flew towards her with like an asteroid seeking landing and she knew she couldn't deflected it with her puny ice katana nor could she move out of the way in time. Dropping her ice sword, she thrust her hands forward, mustering all the strength to form an ice blast.

With a crack and boom, the comet of ice collided with the boulder, splintering it apart and letting the small stones flying harmless by her sides. But only then behind that boulder did she saw the master martial artist himself zooming down towards her, his arm drawn back for a strike.

And strike her down, he did.

Her chest was bruised and she couldn't move her ribs. She couldn't really breathe, which was not helping at all because her lungs was screaming for more breath. Her limbs were frozen – well, not really, but she couldn't feel them. She hadn't fallen completely yet. She was still kneeling upright, with her arm stretched out at him, but when she tried to summon a gust to blow him away, she couldn't.

In a matter of fact, she couldn't move at all.

"Nerve attack," she heard Tai Lung crow in arrogant delight, waving his two fingers mocking at her. "Wish Daddy got you to learn that one, don't you?"

Elsa wanted to spit out a biting retort, but she couldn't even move her facial muscles - nothing but her eyes.

"A bit of a pity to kill you off. Your powers aren't as ridiculous as your father's, and you are a hundred times prettier," Tai Lung said with only the tiniest tint of remorse.

He strolled over to the crown of icicles that she had made around the centre of the cathedral. He yanked off one of them, holding it up like a spear. He then strolled back to her, peering down at her while shaking his head. She glared at him, but he ignored it, sighing instead.

"But then, if you want to the Great Stallion to stumble, you've got to remove the horseshoe."

He pressed the tip of icicle into her chin, pushing it up until all she could see were the criss-cross vaults of the cathedral ceiling. Though she couldn't move, she could hear her heart racing in her chest.

"Cheer up," Elsa heard him chuckle dryly. "They might turn you into a martyr and put your statue in here one day."

She felt the tip cutting into the skin and shut her eyes. Perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible to finally leave this world, the way she was supposed to have the day the Black Raven Hotel collapsed.

Then –

 _Clang!_ "KEEP-" _C_ _lang!_ "-AWAY-" _C_ _lang!_ "-FROM-" _C_ _lang!_ "-MY-" _C_ _lang_ _!_ "-SISTER!"

The pressure on her chin was suddenly gone and Elsa's head flopped back down. She gasped when she opened her eyes, jarred by the sudden turn of events. When the blur in her vision returned clarity, she was astounded by the sight that she saw before her.

Anna, who was at least a head-and-half shorter than Tai Lung, was slapping the man on the head with a metal, round – was that the communion plate? The girl certainly didn't care about what it was, what it represent or what it was usually used for, only that it was hard, sharp and very good for hitting people on the head.

"TAKE THAT!" _Whack!_ "AND THIS!" _Whack!_ "AND-"

The plate was stopped from its descent mid-air. The girl tugged at it furiously, her two braids shaking as she did, but Tai Lung's grip was too strong. Anna eventually gave up and drew herself back, swallowing as the assassin slowly rose to his feet, crushing the plate in his palms the way one would crush paper into balls before tossing them into the wastepaper basket. He glared down at the wiry, small and severely underwhelming young girl and looked as his head wanted to scrunch _her_ up and toss her into a wastepaper basket – of boiling lava.

In Elsa's mind, she begged for Anna to go, to run as far away from this place as possible. If Tai Lung could hold his temper, he would have the common sense to finish the job first before going after her.

But Elsa's gift lay in ice, not telepathy, and Anna had no idea of what her sister was thinking. Even if she did, in her stubbornness, she would probably ignore it. She just put her arms on her waist and stared up at the enemy, as if she was giant with muscles the size of turkeys, and not …well, not herself.

Without even batting an eyelid, Anna told the assassin, "If you want to kill my sister, you'll have to get through me first."

Elsa's heart sank.

"Get through _you_?" All it took was a single swoop for Tai Lung to pick Anna of the ground and have at chokehold. The girl squirmed in his grip, like a worm wriggling on the hook. Tai Lung threw his heart back and laughed. "You? What are you? You're not a hero – you're not even a super, are you?" He brought the girl's face nearer his own so that she could feast the mockery in his gaze.

In response, Anna spat at him.

Tai Lung made a cry of revulsion as he wiped off the liquid from his cheek. Growling now in full anger, he tightened his grip on Anna's neck, making the girl jerk and flail. In her unmoving body, Elsa's fought the frozen muscles with all her might, but the will of the mind was not enough. Her eyes were all that could express her horror as her birth sister's face started to turn blue.

" _You_ ," Tai Lung shook the lanky girl, making her wheeze out a whimper, "you are a worm at the feet of gods. The sad product from the factories of mediocrity." He squeezed tighter and Anna's weak hands could not stop him. "One less of you and the world wouldn't budge in the slightest."

The world itself in the grand scheme of things probably wouldn't, but if Anna was died, Elsa knew that her world would completely change. All these years she had spent in Burgeshima, all these years she had spent under the care of a ruthless crime lord, all these years she had borne with her guilt and loneliness, she did it to protect _her_ \- her dearest, most precious Anna.

It couldn't be that all these years would end like this. It couldn't be.

'Let her go!' Elsa cried in her brain, but her tongue wouldn't move. 'This has nothing to do with her – please!'

"You have wasted your worthless life for nothing," the assassin told the wheezing girl, not caring whether she was really listening or not. "After you are gone, I'm still going to kill her."

In her mind, Elsa begged and begged for a miracle, but when she opened her eyes, she still saw Anna dangling helpless in the air, her face turning purple, under Tai Lung's merciless gaze.

She saw Anna's body shaking, shaking, shaking. Then suddenly, it stopped, and Anna's hands were drooping by her side.

 _No. No. It couldn't be. No… No… NO…. NO... NO. NO._

She could hear Tai Lung snickering derisively in the background as he let her sister's body go, allowing it to crumple to the ground. She didn't care about him, looking only at her sister's unmoving form.

 _OH, NO, NO,_ _NO! NO, PLEASE GOD, NO!_

Suddenly, a tremor was felt beneath them and a roar of engine was heard.

A loud crash came as a black stretch limousine came bursting through the nave entrance, zooming at 180 miles per hour. It drilled straight through the snow and debris, slamming straight into the aghast assassin before drawing to a halt. Elsa was just as shocked, only that the limo had narrowly missed crashing into her. She heard then heard the door of the limo open up, and out emerged her father, draped in all of his dark glory.

"Pitch Black," she heard Tai Lung exhale. When her eyes flickered over to him, she noticed how he seemed almost completely unharmed by the crash, as if all it did was knock the wind out of him.

Her father walked pointedly over the debris to the hood of the limo. As Tai Lung rose to his feet, the Nightmare King stared at him for a long while, then said, "I have no idea who you are."

The assassin let out a howl of fury and made to charge at him, but her father merely waved a hand at him before a multitude of shadows emerged from all walls of the cathedral. Like a tsunami, they crashed over Tai Lung, trapping and strapping him to the ground. She could see the large figure of the assassin fighting against the sand grains, but they merely flowed over him, forming a flexible net that kept him from moving from his spot.

With a dismissive sniff, her father then marched towards her. In the corner of her eye, she noticed several motorcycles rolling through the cathedral's smashed doorway and she never thought she'd feel so relieved to see so many Nightmares. When her gaze flickered back to her father, she notice him appraised her for a second before suddenly stabbing two her finger to the side of her sternum, then again at the opposite side of her chest.

Elsa gasped as she suddenly found her ability to move her ribs again. Her arm that had been held up for so long was relieved to be able to relax from it position and her shins that had been squashed under her weight were glad when her legs straightened out. Her mind, however, was on only one thing.

"We have to go," her father said as he pulled her to her feet. "We don't have much time." To his followers, he ordered, "Check for survivors! We move out in five."

The blonde girl just yanked away from him, darting straight to body lying on the snowy ground. Anna's unmoving seemed so frail, so broken.

"Anna." Elsa kneeled herself hastily by the girl's side, cupping the girl's face in her hand. It was still warm, but that didn't mean that she was okay. "Anna." She patted the girl's face gently, but there was no response.

"What she's still doing in Burgeshima?" she heard her father mutter in surprise as he drew up behind her. In the corner of her eye, she could see the Nightmares going from body to body, inspecting them and passing along if there was no response.

"She needs medical help," Elsa said, not caring about what he had asked. She felt for the pulse on her neck. Nothing, but maybe the bruising there was getting in the way. She pulled Anna's coat apart, tilting her head back, and prayed that she was doing the steps right.

"What are you doing?" her father questioned her testily.

"Trying to save her," Elsa said, locking her hands together and biting her lip. She had never tried doing this without gloves before, but she couldn't find those useless piece of fabric at the moment. For Anna's sake, she hoped that she hold back her emotions. No amount of CPR could save a person if they had been turned into a popsicle.

Sucking in a breath, she began pressing down hard on the girl chest, "1…2..."

"We don't have time, Elsa," she heard her father snap at her, just as a Nightmare from somewhere called something else out in _nihongo_.

"...7…8..." she ignored him. Her eyes were trained only Anna's discoloured mien, and her thoughts were full of prayers and pleas.

"We can't stay here."

"I need to save her," she told him, still continuing to do her compressions. "…6…7…8…9..."

She then shifted herself up and blew into her sister's mouth. Her chest did not rise with the blowing, so she tried again, harder this time, hoping that the windpipe had not really been damaged beyond function. When she saw a slight movement in the chest, relief leapt in her heart and she resumed rigorous thumping. "1…2…"

"Elsa, we're going to blow this place up."

"What?" This piece of news made her rhythm falter, but she didn't cease, hurriedly returning to pumping her sister's chest. "The cathedral? But, Father, you can't-"

"Look around you, Elsa. Tell me what you see."

She did as he told her without stopping the compressions, then she understood what he meant. "Ice."

"Exactly. This is evidence we can't leave lying around." He pulled a face at the rubble under his feet. "Well, this place's already wrecked beyond repair, anyway."

"I can't just leave her here," she told him, her eyes flashing up at him helplessly.

Her father's gaze narrowed down at her and she wondered if he was trying to read her fears again. She wondered why he would when they were already so obvious.

Finally, he shouted something and two Nightmares came running forward. One of them was apparently a medic, because he waved Elsa away to examine the unconscious girl. He then removed a sling bag from his shoulder and whipped out an oxygen mask, which he fitted over Anna's mouth and nose

"It will help her breathe until we can get to the hospital," the Nightmare told her.

Elsa turned to her father and said in full sincerity, "Thank you."

He merely rolled his eyes, murmuring, "The things I do for you." Her father then raised his voice, addressing the rest of his men, "Start the timers! I want this to go down as quietly as possible. Well, as a bomb can."

When one of the Nightmares moved to pick Anna up, Elsa stopped him. "Let me do it."

The medic showed her how to sling the breathing device over her shoulder so that she didn't need to carry it with her hands. Elsa then carefully wrapped her arms around her sister and lifted her off the ground, making sure to rest Anna's head against her own shoulder to make sure her neck was twisted unnaturally. She tried not to weep when she looked at the horrible purple splotches on the girl's neck. Stupid Anna. Brave Anna.

"Move, move, move!" she heard her father yell. Elsa readjusted her hold on her sister. She saw small black devices strapped to the pillars and the walls and her heart clenched. This place, which had been her sanctuary for many years, was going to be gone in seconds.

And it was all her fault.

"Ms. Black, we need to go," she felt one of the Nightmares tug her arm, leading her towards the exit of the church. As she blindly followed after him, she wondered if this young _kumi_ - _in_ in the black suit had known any of her fallen bodyguards.

The road outside the church were full of cars, few from the police and many from the Yakuza. There was no sign of an ambulance yet, though Elsa could hear the siren ringing from the distance. Everyone was directed to move as far away from the cathedral as possible. Elsa gazed up at the neo-gothic building one last time, from the cornerstone to the steeple, so that she could etch in her memory.

She suddenly felt a movement in her arms. Gazing down quickly, Elsa noted how Anna's lids twitched a little and heard the small whimper that came from her throat. Relief flooded her soul and she gave thanks to the heavens above.

"It's okay, Anna," she murmured to her unconscious, but living sister, as she watched her father give the final command through the communicator. She cradled her sister gently, pretending that she was three again and holding her baby sister for the first time. "I've got you."

* * *

His grand plan was that if he died, everything he had would go to Sven. He didn't care if a German Shepherd didn't need a portable oven, or an ironing board, or those kind of can-openers that doubled up for a bottle-openers. All of it, regardless the lack of utility to four-legged canines, would belong to Sven in the event of untimely death.

Apparently though, for all that today had managed to throw at him, Kristoff Bjorgman, second-year communications student, lover of carrots and best friend of Sven the dog, was not yet dead.

He was instead sitting on the curb of the road, wiping the sweat of his brow on his sleeve while speaking to the operator on the line. "No, there's no bleeding," he told her, gazing down at his leg, "just a really, really ugly bruise."

Indeed, the discoloured splotch on his leg was really disgusting in appearance, though not being a close wound helped to temper the severity. Still, the lady on the line told him not to move his leg more than necessary – just straighten it out and wait for help.

"And what do I do with the old guy?" he asked, turning his head to the fellow lying next to him on the road. "Just leave him like this, right?"

By his garb, the balding old man was probably a priest. When the boy had finally mustered the courage to attempt an escape from the cathedral, he had found the elderly fellow lying flat on his back near the exit, body frozen in its motion. The movement of the old man's windpipe however suggested that he was still alive and not in any great pain, though he was certainly incapable of moving himself. Kristoff had figured that the medical team who eventually arrived at the cathedral could get a stretcher and carry the holy man to the hospital in a more dignified manner. But then, the nagging feeling had returned and Kristoff decided, in his ragged, sorry and half-injured state, to drag the fellow out of the building himself. Just in case the Nightmare Yakuza did sometime crazy to the place – you know, like blow it up.

Now, both of them sat two blocks away from the cathedral steps like a couple of dowdy hobos.

And then a _'BOOOOOOOOOOOM_!' was heard from the cathedral.

Kristoff's eyes nearly popped from his sockets as he watched the grand, albeit dilapidated, church building crumbled under the fiery inferno that now burned within it. Stones pelted down and grey fumes rose into the air. The flames crackled as the remaining windows exploded.

 _"Hello?"_ he could hear the operator saying from the other line. _"What's going on there?"_

Kristoff licked his lips before answering, "Er…you know what? Just find us near the big burning building. Yep. We're waiting for you guys there."

With that, his call to the hospital ended. He then turned himself to face the paralysed priest, whose expression was still one of indignant horror.

"Don't worry," Kristoff told the elderly man. "They'll be here soon. Hopefully they can help you, 'cause I have no idea what that Leopard guy did to you."

The boy then spun himself back to watch the rising flames, finding himself both fascinated and frightened by the massive destruction. It seemed so odd that a place so tranquil could turn so tumultuous out of nowhere. He wondered idly if the assassin had perished in the blast.

The boy pulled out the small camera from his pocket. He managed to salvage it from the snow wreck in the nave before his escape. Though there was a scratch on the side, the GoPro was largely unharmed. He did lose the rest of his filming equipment though, so that just made this tiny camera all the more turned the camera to face himself, pressing his lips together as he hit the record button.

"Hey," Kristoff tried to smile at the lens and failed, "so, um," he chewed his lip, "still alive. Yep. Oh, yeah,-" he then angled his camera to the smoldering building, "-the cathedral blew up." He paused to let it sink in. "I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure that it wasn't the tattoo assassin guy who did it." He let out a huff, trying to keep his hand standing before pointing the camera towards the cars all hastily parked near the cathedral steps, though out of range from the blast. "I think the Yakuza's trying to cover something up."

He bit the inside of his lip, thinking before he continued, "Well, let's just say someone pretty important in their gang revealed something pretty big down there. The Nightmare Yakuza apparently doesn't want other people to know about it. Well, it sucks to be them."

He faced the camera back at himself, his muscles all tensing up.

"I know all about it, and I've got it all on record for proof too."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **I had been so looking forward to writing this. Really. It may be entirely possible that I made Elsa a Catholic and stuck her in a cathedral just so I could write this scene. Hahahahahaahaha!**

 **Admittedly, I had other ideas on how this scene could have gone down, but all in all, I'm pretty satisfied with the end results. That said, writing this chapter alone required Googling many, many odd questions like:**

 **-Layout/Floorplan of Gothic Cathedral**

 **-Ambulatory vs Apse**

 **-How tall is a Cathedral vault**

 **-How does an AR15 work**

 **-Submachine vs Machine Gun**

 **-What is a machine pistol?**

 **-Can a gun explode when jammed?**

 **-Meaning of 'Tai Lung' (it really does mean Big Dragon. 0_0)**

 **-What are communion plates made of?**

 **-Can GoPro zoom?**

 **-Do GoPro use selfie sticks?**

 **-Parts of a Chandelier**

 **And not including all the times that I rewatched Kung Fu Panda clips to assess Tai Lung's fighting style.**

 **Oh, yes, Tai Lung is the main Antagonist of the first instalment of the** _ **Kung Fu Panda**_ **movie. This show's a landmark – you have to at least watched this once. He's a snow leopard, so it would make sense that his super-villain name would have been 'Snow Leopard'. I didn't really consider him a Super at first, because his abilities are acquired by training, not genetics, but, well, if the Big Hero 6 are considered Supers in this universe, then why not? Besides, I still think Tai Lung could defeat Mr. Incredible on any day of the week.**

 **This was fun. Let's do it again sometime.**

 **Up Next: More Plots, New Characters Introduced and other matters.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Well, greetings folks! Hope you've been having a lovely day – or at least compared to our poor characters.**

 **I have absolutely nothing else to say to y'all. So…Ciao!**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	25. Chpt 24: Blanks and Bullets

Chapter 24: Blanks And Bullets

She was the epitome of a strong, independent, beautiful – _very_ beautiful, in fact – young woman. There might be some who would argue that she was no longer as young as before, and perhaps the ideals of beauty have too changed over time, but it couldn't be denied that she was, at least, a very striking figure.

She stepped through the doorway of the National Supers Agency building like the diva she was, huge sun-glasses resting on her nose and a Coach handbag swinging prominently over her shoulder. Of course, it wasn't publicly known that this was an NSA building. On the online maps, it was labelled as a government-run auditing centre, and even a few floors had auditors and accountants working there just to maintain the illusion. The NSA itself had to go underground along with the Supers they had protected at the end of the Golden Age. To most of the public, it had faded into an urban legend, much like the Illuminati and Area 51.

However, the character of interest was by no means an ordinary member of the public. Well, she was somewhat of minor celebrity and she had attained some accolades that could be considered remarkable, but that wasn't the major distinguishing feature she possessed. It could be said, in a way, that what allowed her knowledge of the NSA's existence and headquarter locations was not because of who she _was_ as much as who she _had been_.

She dropped her handbag right onto the reception counter, startling the young man who had been on the phone at the time. His scribbles on his writing pad went abruptly into an illegible mess as he gazed up at the bold, voluptuous figure smiling down at him, raising her sunglasses over her forehead. Stuttering into the phone, he stuttered into the mouthpiece, "Errr, you know what-what, um, I'll-" swallowing more as the smile became a little wider "-um, I'll call you back."

He replaced the receiver back where it had been and the woman beamed approvingly.

The receptionist, still trembling from the residual effects of her both terrifying yet bewitching presence - " 'ternoon, m'am, how can I-" choking a little in his nervousness "-can I help you?"

"Why, yes." The slender hand not holding the glasses dug into her handbag. "I have an appointment here with someone called-" she clicked the button on the side of the device "-Mirage?" She made a face. "What kind of name is _Mirage_ , actually?"

"Mirage," the receptionist repeated, briskly jumping back into action as he typed furiously through his pad, brows narrowed in unbridled concentration.

While waiting, she ran a hand through her black curls, neatening up the stray locks that had mussed during the drive. She then proceeded to examine her nails, wordlessly critiquing the work done by her manicurist and deciding that she would have to give her a piece of her mind when she returned to Korobe.

"Um-" a squeak came from the receptionist and she glanced up, "-You're Ms. Wolfe?"

"Gothel Wolfe," she clarified, privately hoping that the name would be recognised.

There was no gasp of surprise or jaw-drop of awe, however, and she frowned when the reception continued scrolling through the list on his digital pad as if she was just one of hundreds that came by this counter very day. "Yes, well, m'am, the problem is that Mirage is currently caught up in a meeting. Do you mind waiting for a while?"

Her patience had completely evaporated in that millisecond. She had taken four hours to drive here – four! Four hours that she could have spent lounging in the luxury of an herbal spa, or attending a matinee orchestra concert, or going for an afternoon tea at a producer's courtyard. She didn't have time for this kind of nonsense!

And this young, uneducated and probably extremely unaccomplished young punk was asking her to _wait_ , as if she were some starry-eyed chorus girl wanting an audition.

"Look, here, you worthless chunk of slime." Lurching forward and grabbing hold of him by the tie, Gothel's lost all pretense of being amicable when she heard the wimp behind the counter yelp in surprise. "Get this Mirage person to see me right this instance or you'll spend the rest of your life looking like an ostrich."

"Wha-what?" the fool stammered.

"And stop the mumbling. _Really!_ It's annoying!" She threw him back into his seat, the force enough to topple him backwards and sent his legs flying over his head. She snorted unapologetically at the sight. "Heavens, the way people enunciate these days."

While the stunned receptionist picked himself off the floor, shaking from head to toe, Gothel took the moment to examine her nails again, humming in thought.

"You know what," she suddenly said out loud to the receptionist who trying to straighten his tie and suit, "I've decided that this colour isn't half-bad after all." She curled fingers in her palm, then straightened out and watched how the lights played on the deep crimson hue. "It looks kind of like blood, I suppose, and that's rather fashionable this time of the year."

When Gothel lifted her head to the counter once again, she found that the receptionist was staring at her blankly.

Scowling crossly, she was all but screeching at him, "What are you waiting for? Get on with it!"

Like a lion whipped by his trainer, the young man fumbled hastily over the commands on the screen while the woman slid her sunglasses back down, rolling her eyes behind the tinted lens. _Men._

* * *

"Your mother's here."

Rapunzel felt her entire body stiffen just as the announcement.

During the four hour wait, she wasn't too sure with how to keep herself occupied the NSA centre. Fortunately, UV, who was apparently her warden to make sure she didn't run off anywhere, was able to get her into the recreation room. There was no one else there but the two of them, since it was working hours for most of the staff here.

They had played chess first, and Rapunzel had to admit that it was quite a challenge to play against someone who wasn't Pascal or a programme on the computer. UV was only an average player though, and she still loss six out nine times to the visiting brunette girl. It was a fairly interesting game, as far as brain-draining games went, but eventually the slender black-haired girl was bored enough to ask that they change their leisure activity.

Most of the other games in the recreation room required more than two players, and it was clear that the senior super was not so comfortable with Pascal playing side by side with them. So they ended up sitting in front of the wide-screen television watching a documentary about the history of the Imperial family of Ameripan. UV wasn't very interested in it and spent most of the time texting on her phone – her boyfriend, because despite the busy schedule of hero-work she apparently had one.

Rapunzel herself merely sat cross-legged on the couch next to her, leaning herself back into the plush cushions and watched the show, feeding cornflakes to Pascal at the same time. She found the content rather fascinating, actually, because in all the home-school lessons that her mother gave her, history was a subject that she often glossed over. Her mother felt that the past had much darkness and brutality that a young girl shouldn't know about. Even as a child, she didn't quite understand it. Sometimes, when she would sneak out to the town library and borrow glossy encyclopedias about Ancient Civilizations. She hid those books under her bed and read them only after lights-out hours. As she poured over funfacts and tidbits about the olden empires of Egypt, Rome and China, she wondered if Mother had never learnt the better side of history.

Of course, she went through her own version of the 'princess phase' after reading so much about royalty. When she was eight, Mother caught her parading around with an origami crown on her head. Her only reaction was to cackle, remove the paper ornament, crunch it up in ball and toss in the bin.

" _Succumbing to the image of the subservient, irresponsible and objectified feminine ideal, Rapunzel?"_ Her mother had rebuked her at the time, not seeming to care that she didn't understand half of the words. _"I thought I taught you better than that. Besides,-"_ shelet out a laugh that had been too spiteful to be in jest _"-you have as much chance of being a princess as I as supervillain."_

It wasn't the easiest childhood, but Rapunzel had to admit that it was safe. Mother had protected her from most uglies and vices, keeping her in tedious sphere of unexcitable routine. The older she got, though, the girl realised that safety became increasingly less important in view of other desirables – like novelty, or idealism, or purpose.

But at this very moment, she wished that she could bury herself in the safety of a cavern, or a cove, or some far, far away place that didn't require her to face the wrath of her mother. Mother, though temperamental, was not a violent woman, but all the same, Rapunzel had enough reason to worry.

"Well?" The agent standing at the door looked directly at her, one of her smooth, straight brows lifted. "Aren't you coming?"

The girl reluctantly lifted herself off the couch, picking Pascal up from the armrest and let him scramble into her pocket. His existence hadn't been made known to Mother yet, and the chameleon was pretty adamant that it wouldn't be in the near future. UV also kicked herself off the couch and followed behind though she hadn't been invited. Her white-haired mentor didn't seem to mind though, just curtly leading them from the recreation room to a meeting hall.

When the electric door slide open, Rapunzel heard a cry that made her heart leap and sink at the same time - "Rapunzel! There you are."

Mother stood by the side of the oval table, polished, radiant and smiling as she often was. As usual, she was draped in dark colours that made accentuated the fairness of her skin, but without blending her into the background. Her long dangling earrings were cut into wire crescents, jingling against the sheet of night that were her curls.

A timid voice squeaked out from her throat, "Mother."

The woman's smile thinned as she advanced forward, wrapping her in an embrace. Rapunzel returned the hug automatically.

"Well, I'm very happy to see you, dear. Thank the spirits that you're in one piece," was her mother's tired voice in her ear, and for a moment, Rapunzel dared to hope that she was forgiven. But then – "It has been such a _terrible_ week for me, after all, having _my own daughter_ running off doing _who-knows-what_ with not so much as a goodbye note. And of course, -" her voice, though sounding casual, was laced with contempt, "-she also didn't answer _any_ of my calls, though that's the only reason I ever gave her phone in the first place."

The brunette girl sighed, knowing full well that this was a crime that would not be easy to atone for. "Mother, please let-"

"No excuses, Rapunzel." Immediately, the girl held her tongue. Drawing herself back but still holding her daughter by the wrist, Mother's tone allowed no room for argument. "We're going home, and you'll be hanging that costume up for a very, very long time."

"But, Mother,-" she protested.

"I've made so many concessions for you," Mother rambled on. "I hated every bit of it, but you wanted it, so I let you because I'm _nothing_ if not a _supportive mother_. And here's the fruit of rebellion." Her mother raised a hand to her forehead, throwing her head back with a tragic air. "Chasing after crazy vigilantes in dangerous cities, finding dead bodies, fraternising with alien fugitives-"

"Well, in my defense," the girl managed to put in when Mother stopped for a breath. "I didn't know he was a fugitive. He used to be a hero too, after all. Besides, he's nice."

"Nice? Oh, Rapunzel, Rapunzel." Her mother shook her head with a patronising smile, bending herself forward slightly as if her daughter were a child that needed to be spoken down to. "You are too naïve to be here, Rapunzel, if you think that _'niceness'_ tells you anything about a person. No." Her mother gripped her firmly on the shoulder. "The longer you stay out in the world, the more likely that someone's going to use you and gifts for their wicked agendas. As your mother, I cannot-" she was sure to put the bite in the words "- _will not_ let that happen."

"Mother," Rapunzel tried earnestly once more, "I've learnt and seen so many things in Burgeshima. If I'm going to be a good superhero, I need this kind of experience."

"Superhero?" Mother echoed the word scornfully. "Rapunzel, the world doesn't want heroes anymore. In fact, it doesn't deserve us." Her manicured hands gripped onto the ends of her scarf subconsciously as she gazed out into the blank distance. "There was a time that they worshipped us, adored us - tripped over themselves just to get a glimpse of us. And now?" She snorted ruefully, tossing one end of the scarf over her shoulder. "They hate us. No, worse-" Mother clenched her teeth together "-they _ignore_ us. They kick us off their heels as if we're nothing but dust. What's the point of being a hero if no one thanks you for it?"

Tipping her head up by the chin, forcing her daughter to look up at her, Mother said, "The world is a wicked, greedy, selfish place, Rapunzel. It's no place for a fragile flower like you." It was then she caught sight of the other teenager was hovering by the doorway next to Mirage, watching the scene with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"UV." The girl in costume stepped forward, sticking a hand out in greeting. "At your service."

Mother just stared at her as if UV as if she were a three-eyed demon. "Well," she finally huffed out, ignoring the hand all together, "clearly the new age of supers have no idea how to pick their hero names."

Even with the black mask covering half her face, it was clearly that UV was offended. She clenched her fist and dropped her arms back to her side. Mother didn't care though, turning immediately to the NSA agent. "Well, if that is all, I'll be leaving now with my daughter."

"Actually, Matahari-" Mirage began, stepping forward with a palm raised.

"I do not go by that name anymore," Mother interrupted, flames igniting briefly in the centre of her pupils as it was mentioned. Slipping her sunglasses off her forehead and plopped back on her nose, she said, with emphasis, "It's _Gothel Wolfe_ now, and that's all it'll ever be."

"I apologise, Ms. Wolfe," the white-haired agent corrected herself smoothly, holding up a digital pad in her arms. "But it's been ages since you last checked in with NSA and we need update your particulars."

"You mean that you want to find out if I've been using my powers to shoot to stardom? To see if I've developed Anti-Ameripanian sentiments after all that you've put me through?" Mother accused, throwing back her curls with snort. "Well, I suppose I don't have a choice, do I?"

Mirage led Mother to the other end of the meeting room while UV stepped next to the younger girl, a bitter twitch in her lip. "Well, your mum's quite a …character."

"Sorry about that," Rapunzel murmured with a sigh, glancing guiltily at the other girl. They hadn't spent long enough a time to consider themselves friends, but she hadn't met that many – or rather, any – girls her age before, and she was troubled to think that this might carve a divide between them.

"It's not your fault," UV told her comfortingly, before still shooting an annoyed look at the black-haired woman, who was now rolling her eyes and complaining quite dramatically to Mirage. "I can totally see why you have to get away from her."

"I don't _have_ to get away from my mother," the brunette was quick to contradict, rubbing the spot where Mother had gripped her subconsciously. "She's just very protective over me."

"Protective? More like overbearing." UV made a disgruntled sound at the back of her throat, putting her gloved hands on her hips. "She treats me like an idiot. Heck, she treats _you_ like a toddler!"

"She's only doing what she thinks is best for me," Rapunzel defended, raising her voice a little as her indignance grew. It was true that she didn't always like Mother's methods of upbringing or her mannerisms, but Mother was still her mother, and a stranger, no matter how well-meaning, didn't have the right to criticize her. "Please don't talk about her like that."

"If you say so," UV murmured reluctantly, not wishing to offend but not willing to change her mind either. "But are you really that ready to give up being a hero?"

"Yes." Rapunzel bit her tongue when she said it. "No. Well, it's-" she rubbed her elbow "-it's complicated. I mean, it would give Mother more of a peace of mind if I did give it up." Rapunzel shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

"You can't just stop doing things because your mother wants you to, you know. I mean, for all your life, at least." UV paused, pushing her black strands behind her ear. "Well, at least two years from now, the NSA won't be obliged to inform your mother of your whereabouts anymore."

"Two years?" Rapunzel repeated.

"Yeah. I mean, that's the only reason why we told your mum anything." UV waved a hand towards the side of meeting table where the older women were sitting at. "You're a minor, and since your mum was technically an ex-hero, the NSA has to get informed consent before letting you do hero stuff at all. Come seventeen, though, you're free." She noted how Rapunzel's eyeballs were almost bulging out of their sockets.

Blinking in confusion, she said, slowly, "I _am_ seventeen."

"You're what now?" Now it was UV's turn to look confused.

"I'm seventeen. I'll be eighteen by next month." Rapunzel cocked her head at her curiously. "Whatever made you think otherwise?"

UV appeared very much stricken. "Your records with in the NSA database say that you're fifteen."

"How could they make such a mistake? I mean,-" Rapunzel brought a hand up to massage the side of head, "-I figured that since the NSA has connections with Mother, she'd correct them on such a thing."

The black-haired girl brooded a little in silence, then said in softly, "Unless your mum was the one who told them that you were younger than you really are."

Rapunzel frowned. "Why would she do that?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" UV murmured grimly. "Why would she? Why wouldn't she?"

"UV." Mirage's demand broke their conversation. Though only one was called, both girls' heads towards the white-haired woman, who instructed her mentee, "Could you retrieve Rapunzel's belongings and bring them here? It'll save time on her getting it later."

"That's a good idea," Mother piped in, glancing at her phone. "I do want to get out of this place as soon as possible. I've a performance tonight, you see," she explained to the other woman casually, though Rapunzel did know that she was rather proud of it. "A full house event – very exclusive too."

"Indeed," Mirage nodded politely, her face absolutely blank of sincere expression. "Now, if you don't mind, could you answer these following questions…"

When UV disappeared out of the meeting room, still a little troubled, Rapunzel sat herself down at the table since there was nothing better to do. Pascal crawled off her pocket to rest on her lap and she lightly massaged the scales on his back while quietly eavesdropping on the conversation amongst the adults.

"So I gathered that you haven't really changed your job then, have you?" she heard Mirage posit in light tone.

"Well, I haven't really been acting in the last few years," Mother answered, absent-mindedly smoothing out her dress. "The rehearsal, the regime, the hours-" she waved a hand flamboyantly in the air "-it was all so terrible stressful and time-consuming. I do want to spend time with my daughter."

That last line sent a twinge of shame in Rapunzel. Mother did spend a good deal of time away from home, which made her lonely at times, but Mother was trying to make a decent living so that they could live comfortably and safely. Mother had often said that she worked so hard because she never wanted Rapunzel to have a reason to be exposed to the vices of the world the way she had to be. Mother was sometimes unreasonably strict, but she did just want to protect her.

Still – lying about her age to the National Supers Agency? What was the point of that?

"I'm mostly into doing smaller engagements now – little concerts, collaboration with music groups. A good deal of freelance," she heard Mother rattled on. "It's quite enjoyable, even though some of the less uneducated cretin have no idea who I am. Really! To think I was a favourite in the glory days."

"I'm sorry," Rapunzel watched as Mirage paused her typing on her digital pad, " _'glory days'_?"

"I'm talking about my glory days as a thespian, not a superhero. Please,-" Mother scoffed while reclining back into her chair. "- I never got as much recognition as I did as a Super than an actress – an _award-winning_ actress. Have you ever heard of the musical _'Passion'_?"

The white-haired woman thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"Really?" Mother raised a brow, swerving her chair around so that the two of them were face to face. "Well, then you should check it out. It's a very novel production – incredibly inspired. Anyway, I-" she gestured at herself proudly "-was in the original cast. I won an award for that. My very first award."

"Yes," Mirage said obligingly, glancing down at her pad quite gravely. "Ms. Wolfe?"

Mother didn't seem to hear her. "No, wait, or was that the second one? Well, -" she shrugged nonchalantly "-I've won so many that it's so hard to keep track of them all."

"Ms. Wolfe." The added sharpness of Mirage's tone did finally catch Mother's attention, making her sit up in her seat. The darker-skinned woman leaned forward, hands clenched together and set before her to show her seriousness. It was clear that which was to be said was not easy, for the NSA agent was seen to be thinking hard before asking, "Have you in recent years have reason to suspect your life might be in danger?"

Any flippancy in Mother's manner vanished. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, despite the NSA's best efforts-" Mirage pursed her lips "-we have not yet caught _La Tunda_."

The name alone was enough to send shivers down Rapunzel's spine. She had heard too many tales of _La Tunda_ not to feel at least a little disturbed.

Mother opened her mouth to answer – possibly a biting comment – but then she saw Rapunzel staring intently at the two of them from the other end of the room. Finally, she said, "I think I'd prefer not to discuss this in front of my daughter."

"Um." The brunette clumsily rose to her feet, almost knocking her chair over in her hurry. "I think I'll go use the bathroom?"

Mother waved a hand carelessly at her, so she left the meeting room, tugging the coat over her shoulders. While a part of her honestly didn't want to think of _La Tunda_ – the creature of her nightmares – she wished that Mother would let her listen in. After all, _La Tunda_ was the reason Mother made as many difficult decisions as she did, and she was grown up enough to know more about the creature that Mother so feared and hated. Mother, however, would think that she only wanted to know because she wanted to be a superhero and that this interest was just childish rebellion.

When she arrived at the bathroom, Rapunzel realized that she didn't actually need to use it at all. That left her hovering listlessly around the sinks.

"What should I do, Pascal?" she asked the chameleon, whom she had set on the sink counter. She swung around again as she began pacing, then swivelled around again when she hit the wall. "I know Mother wants me to go home, and that I should probably go home, but…" she trailed off, tugging subconsciously against the short brown locks.

Pascal nodded at her encouragingly.

"Well," Rapunzel let out a short exhale, tilting at her head towards the ceiling as she resumed her train of out loud thought. "I do know that 13's going to do something terrible in Burgeshima, and it involves the Nightmare Yakuza. They might not be good people, and I suppose they deserve whatever's coming to them, but-" she hesitated "-it can't be right, right? It can't be right to just pass judgement like that."

She kneaded her elbow as she started yet another round of pacing. "That's not what heroes are meant to do." She glanced at Pascal, eager for reassurance, speaking faster and faster as more ideas came to her head. "I mean, heroes are supposed to save lives, not take them, right? Heroes are supposed to make things right, not pay back wrongs with wrongs. If the world is really wicked and selfish as Mother says it is, then-" she bit her lip, pace slowing altogether "-then heroes need to fix it. I-" her voice wavered a little, but there was a good deal more conviction in her softness than her loud ramble "-I need to fix this."

She heard the door swing open and Rapunzel jumped, fearing that it might be Mother and that she could hear all that she had said to herself (and also Pascal), but there was no one to be seen passing the door. The girl thought it a little odd, but not enough to be distracted.

She continued brooding a little while longer until she heard a voice say, "We don't have a lot of time."

Then out of nowhere, her satchel came flying in front of her face. She managed to catch it, yes, but was completely stupefied to find that she was still alone in the bathroom. Rapunzel's eyes darted back and forth around the bathroom, gripping the bag in her hand as she tried to find the source of the voice.

"Sorry if this startling," the voice suddenly spoke again out of nowhere, before an amalgamation of red and black fizzled into vision. Rapunzel jumped back and gasped as she found UV standing in front of her, with a grim expression behind her thin mask. "But if I'm caught on camera, Mirage would kill me."

"Oh?" was all Rapunzel could utter, perplexed.

Glancing furtively over her shoulder, the costumed hero then told her, "I don't think your mum is right. You're old enough to decide if you want to be a hero. No matter what she says, the world _needs_ heroes, even if it doesn't want them. We're not in it for the thanks – we're in it because it's right." She held out a slim gloved hand to Rapunzel. "If you want to go back to Burgeshima, I can help you, but you have to come with me. Now."

Rapunzel glanced at the proffered hand, then at the narrowed eyes behind the mask. Then she nodded, taking the hand. "What do we do?"

"Follow exactly what I say," UV said, turning invisible halfway through speaking. Rapunzel had to admit that the sight of that happening right before her eyes was quite unnerving. She then felt a sharp tug on her hand, pulling forward. "C'mon!"

Grabbing Pascal with her free hand in time, Rapunzel hurriedly slipped the satchel's strap over her head as both of them burst out of the bathroom. She felt UV pulling in the opposite direction of the meeting room and was a little disorientated to find herself sprinting down an array of corridors she had never seen before. When they were crossing a cafeteria, she felt the pressure on her hand lift slightly and found herself forced into a calm, but hurried walk. Almost automatically, her head turned towards the café, wondering if any of the diners there would see her and stop her.

"Just look forward," she heard UV whisper to her, and she obeyed immediately, feeling a trickle of sweat down her forehead when they reached the halfway point of the crossing. Some of the dining stuff had spotted her, but their gaze didn't linger long. Her calm pace must have deceived them to think that she was one of the many workers here.

"Okay." She heard UV breathing, but she still couldn't place exactly where her invisible head was, or what exactly the other girl was looking at. "It's a five hundred miles between this facility and Burgeshima. Even if you went by car, it'd take you at least nine hours. You can drive, can't you?"

"Urm, no," Rapunzel felt odd talking into the open air like that, "I know how to ride a motorbike though."

"Motorbike?" she could hear the disbelief in UV's tone as they reach the exit of the cafeteria, opening into a lane of open cubicles and hurried people, all of which ignored her and somehow managed not to bump into the unseeable girl. "Your mum let you learn how to ride a bike, but not drive a car?"

"My mum didn't know about it till I brought the bike home," Rapunzel murmured quietly, feeling slightly ashamed about yet another thing she had gone and done behind her mother's back. Mother had given her the cold shoulder for that entire week when she had found out. She had tried to appease her with well-done chores, a new dress she made and preparing a nice dinner. But Mother had just criticised her for being sloppy with the housework, that the dress was tacky and the dinner plain.

"Of course," she heard a scoffing mutter as they swung towards an elevator landing, which opened just as they reached. After the staff in there cleared it, both of them entered – or Rapunzel presumed it was both of them, at least. "Makes sense, I suppose."

"Where are we going?" the brunette girl asked, wanting to change the topic.

"The Garage. Hit the button for 'B5'." Rapunzel found the button on the elevator wall with the appropriate number and hit it.

As the door began closing, a hand suddenly stuck itself in the gap, halting the shutting process. As the two panels slides back open again a young man – an agent, Rapunzel presumed by his dress – smiled as he stepped inside. "Sorry about that. Rushing for a meeting." He jabbed a button on the wall and the door drew shut. Mutely, Rapunzel nodded and she was thankful that the other girl in the lift went absolutely quiet.

The descent of the elevator was silent except for the playing of classical music and the agent tapping his finger against his digital pad, humming along to the tune. There was a beep in his pocket, which led him to drawing out his phone and checking it, then replacing it. With his head twisted around like that, he shot a fleeting glance at the brunette girl, then back to his pad screen. Then he suddenly froze up, and swung around, looking at her long and hard.

And then Rapunzel noted that the document he read on the pad started with the title, _'BURGESHIMA, MARCH CASE REPORT'_ with a few photos below it, one of which looked sort of like her.

She tensed.

"Hey," he began, gazing down at his pad, then scrutinising her again, "aren't you suppose to-"

His digital pad was suddenly ripped from his hands, seeming to be magically floating in the air and used to smack him on the head. It didn't knock him out, but it did distract him. Immediately after, the elevator door opened and Rapunzel heard UV shout, "Go!"

She dashed forward immediately, panicked and not completely sure where she was going. Fortunately, there was only one course to travel down and she ripped across it as if she was being chased by cheetahs. She glanced behind her, only to realize how useless it was to search for an invisible person with her eyes. It was only that she heard panting next to her that she said, "UV?"

"Yep," came the affirmative answer in between huffs.

"Was that really necessary?" Her tone was a tad chiding.

"Yes, actually. You have no idea how by the book some people in the agency are," came the reply as a covered parking area came into view. "He would have dragged you back to your mother himself, and called in others if you resisted."

It was warm with the heat of exhaust, but it didn't have the smell of burning diesel as some underground parking lots had. Rapunzel felt UV grab her wrist and found herself yanked past the various vehicles that were stood in the lots. She didn't have the time to really appreciate them, but she did notice that the cars here were all polished, sleek-looking things that were likely to be more than their appearances. She had watched her fair share of spy movies, after all.

"Here we are." UV had taken to them to some kind of overhead … chute? There seemed to be nothing in it. Rapunzel jumped when she saw a card appear out of nowhere, floating in the air till it was brought to the reader on the side of the chute. The large chute that glowed with a mix of blue and yellow lights as something was lowered down – a beautiful, streamlined white motorbike. The tires were polished to perfection, and the handgrips gleamed like silver. If bikes could dream, then this would be what they would dream of being.

"This is the _Full Throttle Maximus_ ," she heard UV say with a hint of pride. "Not the newest model, but no doubt the best."

"Wow." Timidly, Rapunzel reached a hand out to touch and jerked back when she felt the engine rumble to life. The headlights came to light with a dim white glare.

"It's touch-activated. If you have time, you can set it to recognise only your handprints." She felt UV latch something to her arm, so she looked at it. It was a small bracelet with the words _'Maximus'_ on it. "This is the key. You can use it to bring the bike to you from a distance, or you can send it to park somewhere else."

"Wow," she said again, because she had no other words, and the gaps in her speech was filled by the sounds of running feet.

"Oh, great," she could almost hear UV rolling her eyes as she caught onto the movement herself. "Well," she huffed "you better get on the bike."

Rapunzel climbed onto the bike, having one of her feet on the footrest in preparation. As she leaned forward to take hold of the handgrip, she was surprised to find that the glass windshield had a laser lit screen in front of her, with a short command saying, _'State Name.'_

"Rapunzel?" she said uncertainly.

The words on the screen disappeared, replaced by - _'Voice recognition locked.'_

"What just happened?" the brunette asked, glancing anxiously towards the entrance of the garage.

"Maximus now takes vocal commands from you," she heard the girl say just as a helmet fell into her hands. "If you want to add other voices, do it later. Right now, you should really get out of here."

"Okay." She strapped her helmet over her head, leaning forward as she lifted her other leg off the ground and hit the gas pedal, turning the spark advance as she did.

And nothing happened.

"Why isn't it-" Rapunzel turned it again, perplexed and little anxious now that she saw agents pouring through the lots, heads swerving around. "Why can't it-"

"Vocal command. You have to tell him to what to do."

The brunette turned the handgrip again to no avail. "You talk about the bike as if it's a person."

"Well, I can say Max is pretty special." UV's tone was a little sentimental, and it suddenly occurred to Rapunzel that this motorcycle was actually her own.

More patient this time, the brunette asked, "How do I do it again?"

"Just say something like … _'Maximus, go to Burgeshima!'_ "

"Maximus, go to Burgeshima?" Rapunzel repeated, a little unsure.

She felt her body jerk back as the stationary bike accelerated abruptly from zero to fifty miles per hour.

Like lightning, the bike bolted through the garage, streaming down so fast that she barely recovered her senses in time to swerve it away from hitting a wall. Down their new path, she saw several agents yelling at her to stop, but at the sight of the bike heading towards them, they jumped out of the way.

"Sorry!" she called through grit teeth, because she did feel a little bad about scaring them like that. Rapunzel gripped the handles and swung the bike around yet another corner, deciding to attempt another command, "Um, Max? Could you get me out of this building?"

She suddenly felt the handgrip twist itself about, pulling her into a blurred whirl towards a dark passageway that she hadn't seen before. Flickering lights blinked in her vision as she realized the windscreen now showed her white lines and boxes. It took a while for her to understand them.

"Is this … a map?" she asked tersely, nothing the number on the windscreen indicating the speed climbing steadily.

She could have sworn that the motorcycle hummed an affirmative.

"Okay." There was a pulsing hollow circle moving along it, which she presumed was their location. She then noticed there were smaller circles following it. Frowning, she glanced behind her and noted a few glowing lights.

"You are not authorised to use that vehicle," she heard someone boom over the rolling engines. "Stop at once and surrender yourself!"

"I suppose I'm a fugitive myself now," Rapunzel muttered under her breath as she turned to face forward again.

She could have sworn that the motorcycle hummed in agreement to that too.

The path that Maximus led her to brought her past many different vehicles that the NSA owned. There was a hangar for planes of various shapes and functions, another garage which had nothing but personal mobility devices, and even just one area just for bicycles. Why they would need normal bikes when they had motorbikes like Max, she didn't know.

As they drew to the end of the corridor, the exit came into sight. The problem was – it wasn't open.

"Oh, dear. Um, Maximus? Maybe we should go another way." She felt the bike jerk about, speeding away from the sealed exit to a nearby ramp. She could hear the warning announcement echo again and winced. If she didn't get out of here soon, they could very well catch her.

The ramp was a curved in an upward spiral, spinning her up and up, higher and higher, only pulling off about five floors later. She hadn't noticed then where the bike was headed to until she saw that the concrete below their feet had disappeared, replaced with carpet.

"Wait a moment…" she stared hard the map on the windscreen, which had rapidly altered its path. Her mouth fell open as its meaning sunk into her. "What!"

The double doors flung open when the front wheel hit and before she could do anything, she was rolling through the office. The secretaries at their staff almost dropped their work at the sight of the motorcycle zooming pass their cubicles.

"Don't mind me!" Rapunzel yelled as she whizzed past, praying that she somehow managed not to hit anyone.

And then she noticed the huge glass window in front of them, in between two work cubicles. She glanced down at the map and to her horror realized this was where the path ended.

"Max, wait," she tried to tug the bike to a new direction, but for some reason, it was no long moveable. "What are you doing?"

The glass panel came even closer.

"MAX!" She was beating her fist against the composite body of the bike. "NO!"

She swore that the bike laughed at her.

Just before the collision, Rapunzel managed to hastily construct a light-shield for her body. When the bike hit the glass though, the forceful impact made her lose her focus and her shield cracked as if it too was glass. As they flew through the smattering window, she was fortunate to find that she was mostly unhurt.

And then they went soaring through the air.

A shriek escaped her lips as she watched them sail away from the tall glass complex, and let out a squeak when the tires hit the zinc roof of the adjacent building. Amazingly, the motorbike just bobbed up and down a little before whirring up the slant of the roof, then rolling them over the peak and down the edge again. Rapunzel screamed but the bike didn't stop, using the newly gained momentum to launch itself up once more, this time throwing them over the concrete wall that surrounded the NSA facility.

She didn't scream this time, but her heart plummeted with gravity as the bike began dipping downwards and she squeezed her eyes shut when she felt the first tire hit the ground. The force was almost enough to lurch her forward, but she felt the seat below lower itself along with the impact, keeping her from flying off the bike. When she opened her eyes, they were speeding through the small suburban town that the facility was built in, accelerating so rapidly they were out onto the highway within seconds.

"Well, I can't believe I did this," Rapunzel said to herself, glancing behind again just to make sure that no one was following. Then she smiled to herself. They were going back to Burgeshima! She had a second chance at stopping whatever horrible thing 13 was going to do! She could make this right!

She tugged against the handrails excitedly, screaming into the empty open road, "I can't believe I did this!"

And then she thought of Mother's grim tone and cutting reprimands. Rapunzel groaned, smashing her head against the windshield. "Mother's going to be absolutely furious."

Then she straightened herself up, hardening her heart. "No. No. I need to do what is right. I need to fix the problem. I can do this. Mother's feelings are not the only thing important here."

Maybe a mile later, she was dragging a hand down her face, moaning, "What have I done?"

The motorbike, who had fortunately taken over the driving, could have been said to have been rolling his headlights all the way through the journey.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Gothel said very slowly, swinging her sunglasses in her hand. "My daughter – a goody-two-shoes girl who's a little on the 'dumb-blonde' side – stole a high tech motorcycle and escaped from a highly guarded government facility." She stared at the agent expectantly.

"Well,-" Mirage twisted her hands together uneasily "-we've clearly underestimated her."

"You couldn't have possibly underestimated her," sneered the other woman, tossing her curls back while rising to her feet. "She's barely a child. I can't believe the level of this agency's incompetence! Useless!" She wagged a dramatic finger in the air. "This entire agency is absolutely useless!"

With a righteous stomp of her foot, Gothel Wolfe, once the superhero Matahari and now an extremely agitated mother of a rebellious teenager, stormed out of the meeting room, seething and growling.

The young costumed girl standing by Mirage's side observed the scene with much amusement, saying to her mentor, "Well, good riddance."

The agent shot her a disapproving look. "Violet."

"What?" The girl jerked her head towards the path that the woman had gone down. "She's a horrid person. I hope she never comes back."

"Well, she's still an ex-superhero," the white-haired woman reminded her primly. "At the NSA, we're still obliged to protect her rights."

"Urgh." Behind her mask, Violet rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm glad that she doesn't want to be a hero anymore. She'd be an awful one." Though there was still heat her tone, her expression turned more sympathetic. "Poor Rapunzel. She doesn't deserve a mother like that."

"I suppose she doesn't," Mirage conceded despite herself, folding up her digital pad and sliding it under her arm. "But then again, the world isn't a very fair place. Good people have bad things happen to them and many times,-" she paused at the sight of her own reflection against the polished table, "-good things happen to bad people."

An alarm then sounded from Violet's wrist and she pulled back her glove to check on the screen.

"You should go and find out what happened," the older woman urged her mentee as they both exited the meeting room. "I'll come after I've settle some matters in my office."

Violet nodded, spinning around and darting down the corridor. The NSA agent herself went in the opposite direction, heels clacking against the polished boards as she made her way back to her office.

"You know," a voice hissed out of nowhere, "you are right about that. It's kind of odd, isn't it?"

Mirage did pause for a moment, but only to decide whether she wanted to take the longer route or the shorter, but more crowded route. In the end, she chose the longer one. She didn't want to squeeze past the other staff.

As she passed the windows of the dim-lit offices, she didn't notice the odd reflection that followed behind her. 'Odd' was not because the reflection wasn't anyway strange-looking. In fact, the cardigan sweater and brown pants spelt a rather unremarkable image for the young man. The odd part really was the fact that if she were to look over her shoulder right now, she wouldn't see the person that was being reflected against the glass panes.

"It's like some kind of reverse Karma, you know?" the person behind her – if he was a person and if he was really behind her – drawled out in a sardonic trail of thought. "Like good is paid with evil, and evil paid with good. You get what I mean?"

Mirage didn't answer him at all, because she honestly didn't notice his presence at all. She turned a corner and found her office. The door was already opened, so she stepped hastily and sat down by her desk.

Her tail didn't seem to mind her lack of response, entering the office himself and scanning it with a wry expression.

"It's strange, isn't it?" he mused aloud while she tapped against her desktop screen to start it up and proceeded to type something on her keypad. He leaned himself forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his knuckles, watching her. "One minute you were murdering these guys, and the next minute you're protecting their rights. Ironic, right?"

The white-haired woman only combed back her fringe before continuing her typing, not even shooting a glance his way.

"You might have gotten a pardon, but in my books, you're still guilty. You didn't pull the trigger, true, but,-" he straightened himself up, pushing himself to his full height "-you led them to their deaths."

Her mascara-lined eyelashes flicked up to the screen, down to her hands, expression unchanged.

"I can still hear their blood screaming out to me," he told at her, glaring at her with fire in his eyes. "I can hear the confusion, the agony, the suffering. What's worst – I can hear their families. There are people out there that lost their loved one and I can _feel_ their grief. It's like-like-" he scrambled for analogy "-needles. Daggers. Moving in, out, -" he thumped a hand against his chest, demonstration the motion "-in, out, over and over. It's really irks me, you know?"

The NSA agent raised her hand to tap some commands on the screen. The printer on the side of the room rumbled to life as one of the sheets was sucked into the slot.

"I should probably kill you," he remarked, ignoring the added noise in the room because it didn't make a difference - she still couldn't hear him anyway. "You helped kill some very good people, you know that? You never paid those debts." He glanced down at the wooden calligraphy case that sat on her desk. It wasn't hers – she had confiscated it from the belongings of the photokinetic girl after they brought her in with cryokinetic alien last night. She probably didn't remember confiscating it, of course, but that was often the case with the people he hung around.

"Lucky for you," he said with sigh, when she rose to retrieve the sheet from the printing slot, "I've got enough on my plate now. I can't handle another fallout. The whole San Fransokyo thing was-" he scratched a nail along the table, frowning "-well, a big waste of time, if nothing else."

Mirage placed the printed sheet down on the table facing him, not making eye contact as she sat back behind the desk. He picked it up, scanning quickly and nodding. "Right. Could I get a ride too?"

She moved towards the communicator and began writing in the command into the screen.

"Preferably a guy," he added, flipping the page around, "about my height and weight. No bodily impediments please." He shuddered as he set it back down on the table. "Working with a broken arm is unnecessarily difficult." He paused while waiting her to write these details into the screen, then put in casually, "Oh, yeah. Someone with some measure of guilt would be nice. I realise that nice people can see me." He cast a dark look over his shoulder as he recalled the surprised response of the young brunette girl when she had noticed his presence. If he was lucky, she hadn't put two-and-two about who he was yet.

It took less than a minute for an agent of his height and build to arrive to Mirage's office, knocking on the side of her door.

"Come in," the woman beckoned and the summoned agent stepped in. Our mysterious character who had been haunting the backdrop unnecessarily also stepped aside, letting the agent approach the desk of his superior. Mirage got straight to the explanation, gesturing to the sheet, "I need you to collect a package from Dunbuoka. It's extremely urgent, so you have to set out at once."

"Noted," the agent said, taking the sheet in his hand and examining it. "What exactly is in the package?"

"Something small, valuable and possibly toxic, so handle with care," Mirage gave the vague answer in a smooth tone. "You'll need to go the Dunbroch Bank & Trust headquarters and present these authorisation signatures to retrieve it."

"I'll bringit here at once." The agent nodded.

"No." Mirage shook her head firmly. "Take it to Burgeshima. Oh, and one more thing?"

"M'am?"

"Take this too." She picked up the wooden calligraphy case and handed it to the confused agent. "You'll know what to do with it eventually."

"If you say so, m'am." With a nod, the subordinate marched out of the office with new purpose.

The shadowy figure watching in the background cast a glance at the departing figure, then back at Mirage. "If we do meet again," he told her – not that she responded more than she did before, "I'll probably have to kill you. But for now, thanks for your cooperation."

He then swerved on and out of the office, sprinting after the agent.

The white-haired woman sat typing at her desk. Then she suddenly stopped. Surprised, she glanced at her surroundings, then at the screen before her, then at the chair she was sitting in.

"What am I doing here?" she muttered to herself, astonished and bewildered. Shaking her head, Mirage rose from the seat, grabbing her digital pad and left the office, frowning in puzzlement all the way.

* * *

"She used to be in politics, but she was discovered to have some rather shifty agendas and has since then been blacklisted from the legal working world."

Merida let out a yawn, reclining herself back on the sofa.

"Now this over here is-" Hans was pointing to another photo, then noticed her palm being raised over her mouth, "-is another person you clearly don't care about."

Merida considered the statement and she had to concede.

Her redheaded babysitter looked at her with clear and utter disappointment as he closed the window on his laptop – the one showing the pictures of the various who's-whos that she was supposed to know. "You're not taking this seriously."

"It's boring," she defended herself, stifling another yawn in time. "I can't remember who's supposedly related to Nightmare Yakuza just because they made an umbrella that was used by the butler of the castle-thingy that's sitting smack in the middle of the city on prime Burgeshima land."

"You need to know these people," Hans urged her, pointing at his laptop for emphasis. "Haven't you heard me tell you how important this party is?"

"I know, I know." The girl's sapphire eyes rolled themselves. "The last thing I want to do is offend some big-time ganglord's best friend's cousin's sister-in-law, but-" she waved carelessly at herself "-I'm a teenager from another town. Can't I just be the irresponsible, uncultured, idiot adolescent who doesn't know anything?" She threw herself down on the cushions, making her curls fly over her head and bounce up and down like springs when she did.

Hans seemed like he was going to rebuke her, but a chime of the door to the suite rang out, cutting him off.

"Saved by the bell," Merida said a bit too cheerfully as she launched herself off the couch and strolled from the living room to the doorway. She undid the latch and opened the door to find…some kid with spiky black hair that she didn't know?

"Merida!" This random boy with way too much hair spray seemed absolutely delighted. "I was in town and I heard you were too, so I decided to come visit. Look, I've even brought Aunt Cass' pastry puffs. Tada!" He held up a plastic carrier that held a long cardboard box. "You should eat them while they're hot."

The redhead glanced down at this stranger and said plainly, "I have no idea who you are."

"Actually, you do," the boy contradicted, thrusting the plastic bag into her hand while lowering his voice, "but the last time we met, I was wearing a big purple helmet,-" he gestured at his head, using his hands to form the curves of imaginary headgear "-and you fainted."

Some pieces were starting to click in Merida's mind, because she retorted hotly, "I did [not ]faint."

"Sorry. You syncoped. Or went into syncope. I'm not actually sure if it's a verb or a noun." The boy was completely unapologetic as he pushed past her, leaving her carrying the box and staring at him in complete disbelief. She compared his scrawny figure with the wiry hero that had helped the night before and despite herself, she was starting to see some similarities. She wondered where his robot friend was.

"Is this your hotel room? Sick." The uninvited guest gawked admiringly at the pantry and kitchen, then headed down to the dining room and stared up at the mini-chandelier hanging off the painted ceiling. "Must cost hundreds to stay a night."

"Thousands, actually," a smooth, cordial, but subtly wary voice entered the dining room. Hans was now standing at the opening between the dining room and the living room, peering at the cheeky young invader with a sceptical expression. "Merida, who's this?"

The girl was at a loss of words. She only knew the boy by his hero name and she couldn't reveal that, or how she had come to know him. Fortunately, the black-haired lad of part-Asian descent had an answer prepared.

"Hiro Hamada," he introduced himself, sticking a skinny hand out, "you may have heard of me."

"I have, actually." Hans took the proffered hand with a smile, but Merida detected subtle hostility emanating of the young lawyer. "Robotics prodigy. Graduated from college at sixteen. Founder of the multimillionaire technology development company that specialises in cutting-edge medical science and clean energy."

"Wow." The black-haired boy was clearly impressed. "That was the first time anyone knew that much about me. I have to throw in, though, I h've technically graduated from the course,-" he made a face, "-I'm still in SFTI. Wanna finish my post-grad studies first."

"Side-by-side with running the company? Quite a balancing act," the elder man murmured politely.

"Well, I get lots of help." The humble words didn't match the cocky tone, and the redheaded girl frowned at the boy who stuck his hands into his short pockets. He then glanced at her and seemed to have recalled something. "Oh, yeah. Do you mind if I talk to Merida alone?"

Hans turned towards the girl, looking at her rather suspiciously. She shot back a puzzled look at him, but all he said was a wary – "Certainly."

Her babysitter then retreated from the dining room, but the level of privacy could use serious improvement. Hiro, for apparently that was the name of this mischievous, house-crashing cretin, whispered to her, "Do you have a place that's not-" he jerked a shoulder at the open door that led to the living room.

She thought briefly, then waved at him to follow her.

They ended up in her room, because it was the most private place in the suite that wasn't the bathroom, and because if he was here for why she thought he was here, she would need to show him something.

"Is that guy your brother or something?" Hiro asked as she shut the door. "Red hair must be pretty big in your family."

"He's not related to me," Merida answered at once, feeling a little jarred by the question.

"Oh." She could almost hear the gears turning in his head. "So, he's an apartment alone with you, so that would make him your-"

"Babysitter," the girl finished the sentence for him. "And he doesn't know about the Wisp, so you better shut your mouth about that." She jabbed a hard finger at him. "Got it?"

The boy called Hiro didn't seem daunted by her threat, squinting at her while rubbing his chin. "Why do you have babysitter?"

"My mother's fault. Long story. So-" she swiftly changed the topic "-did your phone battery run flat, or why didn't you just call?"

This lad, who was apparently a so 'up-there' prodigy of whatever, gaveher a withering look. "13 has our phones tapped."

"So?"

"Well, it's kind of counterproductive to be plotting against someone when they're eavesdropping, you think?" He placed his skinny hands on his hips.

She raised a brow at him. "You think 13's got Knight."

"Well, that seems rather obvious, doesn't it?" The way he talked sounded incredibly different from Jinketsu's voice-filter voice, but there was a familiarity in the rhythm and manner. "I didn't manage to update you yesterday, but Hiccup called in before he vanished."

This was news. "He did?"

"13 contacted him and arranged to meet him at some Hill place. He went into radio silence after that and we don't what happened to him."

Merida narrowed her eyes. "This … 'Hill place'. Was it a graveyard?"

Now it was Hiro's turn to look surprised. "Yes. Why?"

She turned away from him, moving to her cupboard and opening it up. The black feline that had been trapped there was pounced back into the light with glee, then hissed at her furiously.

"Toothless?" The visitor apparently knew the cat, and by how it twisted itself around and ran towards him, the cat too knew the visitor. Gently, Hiro picked the creature up his arms and began scratching the back of his head. To Merida, he asked, "Where did you find him?"

"At a graveyard," she told him while kicking a shoebox that had fallen out of the closet back in, then closed the cupboard doors forcefully. "I've been tracking down Knight. Hiccup. Whatshisname." Yeesh. No wonder the cat was called _'Toothless'_ of all things. It was like this kid from Berkazaki was infected by some kind of bad-name curse.

"You've been tracking Hiccup?" The lad sounded really astonished as he stroked the beast's fur. "But he's completely offline. He went to face 13 without any digital devices."

"What?" She scrunched her face up at that. She recealled that Knight had used quite a bit of technology during his fight with her. "Why?"

"He thought that 13 might be technopath. Don't know if he was right, because he vanished after that."

"Well, I don't need your fancy digital gizmos to track him." Merida went over to her back-pack, diving into the pockets to retrieve the half eaten cake folded inside the zip-lock.

Hiro glanced at the cake, then at her, completely confused.

Merida sighed before explaining, "This is a kind of magic cake. It allows you to see blue lights that lead you to your target - in this case, Hiccup."

Apparently, her explanation didn't really work, because Hiro was now studying her with a concerned and even a little shocked expression. Then he asked haltingly, "Are you under a lot of stress?"

"What?"

"I mean,-" he twiddled with his thumbs as he thought "-I'm starting to wonder if you've been consuming inappropriate substances that, well, make you see things?" He suddenly grabbed her arm, making her jump back. "You're too young to pick up these kinds of habits! Please!" His face suddenly warped into a comically pleading mien. "There are natural highs! You don't need to do this!"

Merida blinked at him, and then rubbed her temple. " _Jings Crivens_ – I'm so close to punching you." Ripping his hand of her, she muttered plaintively, "C'mon, ye daft _dunderheid_."

It was her turn to grab him, but by the shoulder, though no less painfully. Blue light engulfed them and before he could protest, they were transported into a thicket of a forest.

 _"AHHHH!"_ The boy clutched the black cat with wide eyes, spinning around wildly, gaping glassy-eyed at the changed surroundings. Toothless didn't enjoy being treated as a stress ball and squirmed his way out of the frantic grasp, hopping onto the ground and shaking his fur. With his hands empty, Hiro clutched his chest and glared at her. "A little warning next time? You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Yeah, okay." Unrepentant, she opened the packet and removed a small piece of cake, thrusting it towards him. "Here. Eat it."

"What?" He eyed the cake as if it were poison – and as far as the flavour went, it did taste like it. "No. I'm not just going to eat random things just because you want me to."

"Just eat it, and I'll show you how I track Hiccup," she told him, not leaving room for argument.

The boy frowned at her.

"What?" She raised her brow at him. "You're just gon'na stand there staring or are you actually going to do something useful?"

Hiro took the proffered piece with a dubious face, then popped it into his mouth. At once, his countenance warped into one of revulsion, but a threatening look from Merida made him swallow it down.

"Urgh,-" he rubbed his throat, turning slightly green, "-that was disgusting. It's like eating rotten blueberries in soured yogurt."

"Yeah, okay." Merida was getting impatient with him. "Do you see anything strange?"

"Well, no, I don't see-" he stopped short, staring right over her shoulder.

Merida glanced in his direction of sight. "Is there a blue bob of light floating behind me?"

Dumbstruck and little petrified, the boy nodded.

"Good. See? Magic cake. Now-" she dragged him forward. The feline at their feet followed them closely, meowing curiously at the boy's expression "- just tell me where the blue lights are, and we can get going."

On hindsight, she supposed forcing some extremely expensive cake down the throat of person she'd just met (and had in a way saved her life) was not only rude, but also unwise. Since it would be a waste to consume more of the cake herself, she had to rely on his lead. Many times he would forget to tell her where the lights where leading, and other times he didn't seem to want to follow the lights, preferring to babble questions at her with anxious expressions.

"Are you seeing all this?" Hiro asked with wide eyes, waving his hands frenziedly in front of them as they moved out of the forested area into a large garden. Lovely stone paths brought them through finely-trimmed hedges and around lavish fountains. This must be part of a public park, or perhaps it was part of private property. The boy however was clearly not enjoying the view.

"No, because only the person who ate the cake can see it," Merida answered for what must have the fifth time. She heard an irritated mew from the cat scurrying in front of them and agreed with the sentiment. This guy took way too long. Next time, she was doing the leading.

"And these lights lead specifically to Hiccup?" He was clearly baffled. "How on Earth does that work?"

"Like I said," she replied again, very annoyed by now, "magic. Very expensive magic."

He sent a withering look her way. "Okay, this whole magic thing is getting a little old. What's the real mechanism?"

"Like I said, _magic_ ," she repeated with great emphasis. "Is it so hard to understand?"

"There isn't such thing as magic," Hiro scoffed, managing to stop himself from tripping over a small fence. "Everyone knows that. This isn't Harry Potter, you know."

"My powers do come from magic," Merida retorted fiercely, then forced herself to lower her voice. Who knows who else might be wandering in these parts? "Are you still following the lights?"

"Yeah, yeah." He brushed away her question, still absorbed in the present conversation. "What do you mean your powers come from magic? I thought you'd be, I don't know, born with them, or you'd acquired them in a freak accident."

"Well,-" her pace slowed as she challenged him"-were you born with powers? Did you acquire them in a freak accident?"

Hiro assessed her inquiry with a furrowed brow. "Well, no. I just use really advanced technology."

"And I use magic. Simple." It was her turn to go thoughtful. "Okay, I just put two and two on the advanced technology of Big Hero 6 and you being an inventor-prodigy-thingy together."

"You worked that all by yourself? Wow, you must be the prodigy," he said with a mocking grin that made it very tempting for her to pick him up and throw him in the fountain. His face suddenly turned serious. "Oh, my freak – are you a witch?"

"What?" Merida glanced down herself self-consciously, wondering if there was anything really that witch-like about herself. She compared herself to cranky old wood-carving sorceress who lived in the mystic forest with her talking crow and shuddered. "Goodness, no."

"Well, you do have red hair. In medieval Europe, they'd think you're a witch. Of course,-" he examined her with his lips pursed "-you have blue eyes, so you don't quite fit the bill."

"Well, that's good to know." Merida didn't mean it in the slightest, wondering how badly the Big Hero 6 would react if she gave their leader a bruise. Just a little one, you know, between his eyes.

"However, did you notice that your _'babysitter'_ -" Hiro was careful to emphasis the word in a slow, taunting tone "-has red hair and green eyes? I hate to say it but, -" he put on a fake expression of sympathy "-you've got a witch in your company."

She changed her mind. How about breaking all his teeth? That would keep him from using that irritating mouth of his.

Then suddenly, he was grabbing her arm again. She was _this_ close to flipping him over her shoulder and tossing him over the hedge, but he hissed urgently, "Get down."

Both them crouched down immediately behind the nearby hedge, which happened to cut in the shape of a horse. The boy had scooped the cat back in his arms to keep it from wandering off, much to Toothless' dismay. Merida, a little perturbed by the anxious instruction, asked, "What is-?"

"Shhh!" He placed a finger over his lips, then pointed beyond the hedge with a worried expression.

Cautiously, the girl took a peep beyond the trimming and was flabbergasted that somehow or another, the garden had led them to a menacing looking metal gate. Stationed around it were several men in suits and she noticed that a good many of them bore arms. Swinging herself back into the safety of their hiding spot, she whispered to him, "What on Earth is this place?"

"Look beyond the gate," was all he replied.

Puzzled but intrigued, Merida peered around the grassy barrier once again, lifting her eyes up this time. Her eyes grew larger and larger as she traced the outlines of the fort walls and the tall black castle that sat behind it. Even as ignorant as she was, she had a good guess of what this place was.

Shifting back to her companion, she gasped, "This is the headquarters of-"

"-the Nightmare Yakuza," Hiro finished for grimly. He handed the cat to her then snuck a peek around the hedge himself, then pulled back to him, "I can see the blue lights going beyond the gate. They seem to moving towards the castle." Revelation dawned upon him. "So the Nightmare Yakuza has Hiccup, not 13."

"Well, not to brag, laddie, but I already knew that, I just didn't know how where they took him," Merida said without an inch of humility, grinning slightly. " Who's the prodigy now? Hmm?"

"Take us back to your room," Hiro murmured, clearly bothered enough by the idea not to respond to her jibe. "We need to plan for this."

Merida shrugged, then grabbed him by the shoulder. Blue flame swallowed them up and returned them to the luxurious, but messy, bedroom of her hotel suite.

"Okay," she said, watching him walk straight towards the vanity desk and sit himself down. There was some envelopes sitting down there, so he took one and an eye-liner pencil that he must have assumed was an ordinary piece of stationary. She noticed that he was starting to draw something on the paper. "What are you doing?"

"Try to make a plan," he answered, not stopping his scribbling. "Can you teleport into the castle?"

She nodded while setting the cat down. The beast still seemed much ruffled by the teleportation exercise and fled to hide in the closet. "But the place looks huge – I mean, really, really huge. He could be anywhere in it."

"We don't need to teleport to his exact location," Hiro said, still drawing on the sheet. "We just need to get inside there and use your … cake-magic-thingy, and we can find him. Right?"

"Yes, but how are we going to get past the hundreds of gangsters inside there?" she pointed out.

His pencil paused. "Good point."

"Also, if we go in there blind, we might end up walking straight into a trap, like Hiccup did," Merida pondered out loud. "He might even be heavily guarded, which would make this a lot harder."

"Not to mention if the Nightmare King's at home, we're probably dead meat," Hiro added. When he noticed Merida eyeing him oddly he defended himself, "What? He used to a big shot villain - fought off four superheroes by himself. Haven't you heard?"

"No, actually," was the girl's stiff reply, not liking how ignorant she sounded. She then caught sight of the pink dress that had been purchased from the boutique this morning and an idea struck her. "The party."

"What party?"

"There's supposed to be this big party tonight where a lot of important people in the Nightmare Yakuza are attending. I know, 'coz I'm going." She was pleased to find that she did know something he didn't. "Security will be tight, so they'll have to transfer lots of the guards over there. The castle should be a lot emptier."

"Good." Hiro made a final scrawl on the paper, lifting it up triumphantly. "I'll go to the castle at night."

"We?" She scowled at him. "This was my idea. I think I should be the one doing the rescuing."

"Didn't you say that you'll be at the party?" The boy jerked his thumb at the dress, pausing to critique it silently. After that was done, he returned his gaze to her. "I didn't think you'd be a pink person."

"I'm not." Merida shot a hateful glare at the frilly gown. "Anyway, I can find a way to sneak out. Like you said, you need me to teleport in."

"I have a robot that flies," Hiro told her plaintively, "I don't really need your help. You just go party and dance-" he shrugged carelessly "-and do whatever you rich girls usually do."

That was _it!_ She had it with this little cocky _eedjit_ that had come barging in to her home unannounced, potentially putting her secret identity at risk and now he was giving her _orders_? Merida marched straight up to him, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him entirely off the chair, making him yelp in shock. She pulled his face close to her own so that he could the fury written on every inch of her countenance.

"Listen close, _yer bumbling piece o' jobby_ ," she spat at him, slipping into the Wisp's Scottish accent unconsciously as she did. _"Ah hae taken doon cratur five times yer size. Sae heaven be mah witness, 'huv a go at me again 'n' Ah wull pin ye naked lik' a kebab oan th' Statue o' Liberty!"_

Then the knob turned and her bedroom door opened. The two teens immediately swung their heads towards the figure in the doorway, who was looking at the scene with an unreadable expression.

Merida let the scrawny boy go and he rapidly steadied himself on his feet. They stared at the Hans, and he stared back at them, and this went on for quite a while until they were interrupted by a soft, but obvious 'mew'. All heads then spun to the black feline hopping up onto the mattress. The creature didn't seem to notice that it was now the centre of attention.

Hans was the first the break the silence. "Where did the cat come from?"

"Err," Merida poured through possible stories that she could tell him: impulse adoption of a stray, found it climbing in the air vents, captured for a science experiment…

"It's a gift. I gave it to her." Of course, the annoying little squirt already had an answer. "Merida was just expressing her thanks to me."

"Really?" Her babysitter's gaze now rested on her, suspicious. "I never thought of you as a cat person."

"I didn't think I was one either until recently," was the girl's response, glaring at Hiro, who was, of course, smirking triumphantly away. Seeing that Hans wasn't quite convinced, Merida walked over to the bed and lifted the feline into her hairs, ignoring how the beast wriggled in her arms. Forcing a sweet smile, she said, "Thanks so much, Hiro."

"Anytime," the boy answered with a bit too much merriment.

Her babysitter, eventually persuaded that that was all the whole situation was, left them alone, but not pushing the bedroom door all the way closed and fixing it in place with the door stopper, eyeing the redhead girl meaningfully. When he vanished back down the corridor, Merida let out a long sigh of relief and tossed the cat onto the bed, making it yowl in shock. Toothless curled himself around and snarled at her, wagging his tail sharply.

"Well, I don't like you either." As childish as it was, Merida stuck her tongue out at the cat, who bristled it fur at her before proceeding to leap up to the headboard, perching itself on it like a bird. The girl then turned to the young hero, who was still scrawling away on the sheet. "You should go."

"Yep," he said putting the pencil down. Then he scrunched the envelope up in a ball, tossed it in the bin.

"Wait, did you just throw away your-" she darted up to the bin and unfolded the paper, only find that all that was on it were just unreadeable scribbles "-wait, what's all this?"

"Oh, just random doodles." Hiro shrugged. "I'm kinesthetic – need to move my hands when I think."

"O-kay." Merida scowled at him, throwing the paper ball back into the bin. "I'm so done with you. Get out."

"But I haven't even told you the-"

"I don't care." She swung around him and began to forcefully drag him out her room, through the suite. "And next time you want to talk, call."

"But you-know-who's listening-"

"You're the flippin' prodigy," was her exasperated response as she pulled the front door open, shoving him into the corridor. "You figure a way out."

Just as she prepared to slam the door in his face, Hiro suddenly stuck his foot in the gap, stopping her. "Wait."

A profanity-littered insult rested on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back when she saw his solemn expression. Glancing over his shoulder, he told her quietly, "Watch Toothless." Noting her confused appearance, he added, "If something happens to Hiccup, Toothless would be the first to know. Their bond is ridiculously deep. It's almost like-" he scrunched his face up "- _magic_."

Suddenly, her irritation melted as she noted hardness of his jaw and the stiffness of his posture. It occurred to her then that if they did not save Knight from the claws of the Nightmare Yakuza, it might very well be his end.

With a sobered mien, she nodded. "Okay."

Satisfied with the response, he removed his foot and let herclose the door. With her guest departed, she returned the living room where she noticed Hans watching her carefully. "What?"

He pursed his lips together, then asked, "How do you guys know each other?"

"School." Merida lied, moving over to the coffee table to help herself to the pastry puffs that Hiro had brought. As her teeth sank onto one of chocolate-covered ones, she was pleasantly surprised by the flood of soft cream filling her mouth. "Wow,-" her voice was a little muffled as she chewed "-this is really good."

"You go to an all girls' school."

She choked. Coughing and thumping her chest, Merida managed to down the half-chewed chunk, though her throat felt rather uncomfortable about it. Noting how Hans was still waiting expectantly for her explanation, she scrambled for another explanation. "Our schools are nearby."

"The nearest school to yours is a kindergarten," he pointed out mildly, brows rising in alarm. "Merida, he said himself that he's in college, and he's from San Fransokyo."

She wanted to slap herself for the error, but to cover up, she pulled her focus from the doughnut and narrowed her gaze at him. "How do you know so much about where my school is and its surrounding buildings?"

"I'm quite a thorough person when it comes to background checking my clients," Hans said smoothly, seating himself in the arm-chair opposite her.

"Oh? So I'm just a client to you?" Merida made a show of being offended, rolling her eyes and let out a strong huff. "I see."

"Don't try to change the topic." He drew himself closer to her, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hand together, every inch of him radiating gravity. In a softer, but definitely probing tone, he began, "Merida, be honest with me."

She tensed up immediately. Honesty – that was something she wasn't really the best at.

"Is there, well,-" his voice fell several decibels, as if he feared that someone might overhear "-is there something that you're hiding? Something that your mother should probably know about?"

Merida stared at him, the cogs in her minds jammed to an unexpected halt.

What should mothers know about their daughters? The number of times she had snuck out late at night committing illegal, though life-saving, activities? The number of criminals that she had put behind bars? The number of times she had been stabbed and shot, and had to bandage herself up before going to school and pretending to be perfectly okay?

There were a lot of things her mother should probably know, but will never know. As long as it was within her power, anyway.

Hans noticed her obvious lack of response, because he decided then to speak himself. "You know, I think it's okay."

She blinked, face scrunching up in confusion at the same time.

"I know that your mother has been pressuring you to find a suitable future-spouse," he went on, clearly mistaking her confusion for scepticism. "She made it pretty clear in all the emails she'd sent to me."

"She did?" Merida couldn't help the mouth hung open. Why on Earth was he bringing this up?

"It's still fairly standard practice for owners and CEOs of extremely wealthy and powerful corporations to match-make their children in hopes extending their connections and preserving affluence." Hans snorted, his shoulders relaxing as reclined into the polished leather. "It's not as in-your-face as it had been in the olden days, but it still happens."

"Yes," the girl agreed slowly, not too sure about where this was going.

"I understand that you have concerns that she won't approve of a relationship that you've initiated on your own and I don't know the boy well enough to know if she should, but in my opinion, it's fine."

Merida's eyes widened, the implications suddenly hitting her full force. "What?"

"You're young," he explained, still not registering the real reason of her shock. "You should be allowed some space to experiment with relationships. Just, um-" he paused for a second, as if thinking about how to phrase himself, "-don't get pregnant. I heard that it's very inconvenient for PR department whenever that happens."

"Excuse me?" She felt rather indignant about that.

"What am I saying? You're a smart girl," Hans sounded a little amused, like he was enjoying this very, very misplaced teasing. "You won't get into that kind of trouble. But bottom line is this-" he suddenly turned stern again, "-as long as your relationship is based on mutual consent, it's fine. Your mother shouldn't have the only say on it. Your own happiness matters too."

The girl absorbed what he had said with a quizzical face, pondering the costs and benefits of correcting his error – his extremely revolting error. Still, he had practically handed her an excuse for her odd behaviour, and it would make taking calls from the other young hero a lot easier around him.

Finally, she said, with a hidden edge in her voice, "Thanks?"

"No problem." He was already opening up his laptop again, presumably to return to work. "If you need any relationship advice, feel free to ask. I've been through lots of them."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to actually know more about that, so Merida grabbed the television remote and flipped the switch. Apparently she had left it on the local news network, and now it was playing the news report about a bombing of a cathedral. The girl shook back her curls and hunched forward in interest.

 _"In what can only be a terrorist attack, the casualties have been numerous,"_ the reporter on the screen was almost yelling into his microphone. _"The fire department has been working closely with the community volunteers to help the victims -"_ the camera swerved to show several fellows in dark suits checking on the ragged, frightened-looking people among the medical staff, which struck Merida as odd – by the suits, at least ["-but the cathedral, which was at least a hundred and twenty years old, is almost completely destroyed."]

The voiceover person took over as the camera panned over the blackened stone building, which was still smoldering after burning for almost forever. Merida thought that it resembled a giant chunk of charcoal more than a church building by now and she couldn't help but wonder who was responsible.

 _"Amongst the injured are members of clergy, security guards and ordinary citizens who had just happened to be there,"_ the business-like tone read plainly as they showed an overhead shot of the scene. _"One of them was a visiting reporter from Arenashi, who is best known to be a half of the team who published the viral video of an ice-powered vigilante, sparking alarm in the city that the criminal fugitive has returned to_ _wreak_ _havoc. Back to you, Tracy."_

 _"Thank, you, Derek. Now, moving onto-"_

"I have to go."

Before Merida could really register what was going on, her babysitter was folding his laptop back up and sliding it into his case. Tilting her head in surprise, she repeated, "Go? Where?"

"There's someone I need to check on," he said, glancing briefly at his phone while snapped the locks the case, closing it tight. "Don't worry, I'm still going to the party."

Despite herself, Merida felt a little of tension in her chest loosen. The polite part of her asked, "You want me to go with you?"

Her offer was met with shock, and by his expression, alarm as well. "Oh, no, you just stay here." He shook his head, picking his briefcase as he moved towards the exit of the suite. "You can manage a few hours by yourself, right?"

"Sure." She waved him away more carelessly than she really felt, making a show of changing the channel. Now a cooking show was playing on the screen.

"If you need anything, just call Maudie or myself," Hans said as he opened the door. He was doing his best not to show it, but he did seem a little anxious.

Merida nodded indulgently, rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes. I got all the numbers I need. I'm seventeen, not seven." She patted her mouth, giving off a false yawn and stretching her arms back. "You know what? I think I'll go take a nap."

"Good plan. You didn't get much sleep last night." He made a face as recalled the events had transpired, drawing the door shut after him. "I'll be back at six."

"Yeah, yeah, just go already," the girl urged, and finally, he did shut the door.

Then, it opened again and he stuck his head around, a wry expression appearing on his face. "Oh, if I see your young man on the way out, do you want me to send him back?"

"Can you just _go_?" Merida nearly bellowed at him. Really! Her and the twerp? _HOW?_ Was he actually being serious?

Hans let out a hearty chuckle before finally closing the door, this time for real. Just to make sure, the girl leapt out of the couch and sprinted over, turning the lock. That would keep him out even if he wanted to come back, effectively earning her maybe an hour or two on her own.

She then returned to her bedroom, where her four poster king-size had become the resting spot of a tired and probably dirty cat. Catching sight of her from the corner of it eye, the feline gave a long meow, blinking its large emerald eyes at her.

"Come on, kitty." The cat made a displeasured purr at that title. Merida didn't care though, because beggars couldn't be choosers and she was immune the charms of cuteness. She grabbed her coat of the rack and slipped on, as well as throwing a solid pair of trousers. "Till Hiro gets back to us, why not we check out that fire for ourselves?"

The cat seemed to indicate that he preferred lolling around on the comfy coverlets.

"Well, I don't care about your opinion," the girl said, swinging a different colored coat over her shoulders this time. "C'mon now."

She scooped him up in her arms against his will. In a flash of blue, they were both gone.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Introducing Gothel! She's so fun to write. Making her have a post-hero career of being a theatre actress/singer was based on the voice-actress behind Gothel, Donna Murphy, herself. Donna Murphy did win a Tony Award (which is the theatre equivalent of an Oscar) for the Sondheim musical** _ **'Passion'**_ **, so yep – referenced to that.**

 **Maximus the Motorcycle, mostly because I didn't want to make him like a dog or something.**

 **In case there any confusion, the 'mysterious figure' who was tagging onto Mirage was the same person who Rapunzel saw after waking up in the NSA (Chap 20). You should be able to guess who he is. As for his secret identity and how he actually operates, well… the former is actually kinda revealed and the latter would be explored in the future.**

 **Ah! The build up to 'the party'. It's gonna be…pretty big.**

 **Up Next: Will Hiro and Merida save Hiccup in time? Will Rapunzel save Burgeshima from 13's frightful plot? What** _ **is**_ **13's frightful plot? What's Tooth gonna do and will she succeed? Where's Jack? What is the fate of the Nightmare Yakuza?**

 **And when am I going to update** _ **'The Guardian Games: The Wrath of Five'**_ **?**

 **These are all good questions that I will procrastinate on answering.**

* * *

 **A/N: Had some tight school days, hence the dry season on writing for a while. I hope this ridiculously long chapter would tide you, good reader, for a while while I struggle to take up the pen once again.**

 **On a side note – has anyone seen the new preview on** _ **'Tangled: Before Ever After'**_ **? It's a bit odd seeing CGI characters in hand-drawn style, but the animation is good and the script – man, everything Eugene says makes me smile. Ah - my OTP is Eugenzel for a reason.**

 **If you enjoyed this chapter, I'll appreciate a review, but, eh, it's really up to you. So. Yeah.**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	26. Chpt 25: You May Be Right, I May Be Craz

Chapter 25: You May Be Right, I May Be Crazy

* * *

Dunbroch Bank and Trust boasted one of the most secure deposit safes in all Ameripan. Whether it truly was had never been proven, but it was true that there were few criminals who had ever managed break into its vaults and rob the place clean. However, that might not have to do with the state-of-the-art security technology and solid building layout as much as the formidable superhero that guarded the city of Dunbuoka.

The formidable superhero however was now distracted with matters in Burgeshima, which meant that, for all the security that the bank could have, it was vulnerable.

"Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?"

"I'm here to retrieve something for my employer from the deposit vaults." The trim-cut fellow in the suit handed the relevant documents over the counter to the receptionist, who took them and examined them. The receptionist then dialled in a number on her phone and picked the handset up, holding it against her ear. After waiting for a moment, she spoke into the mouthpiece, "We need a 444, Class Platinum. Thank you."

"If you don't mind, I'm in a bit of a hurry," said the trim-cut fellow, brushing his coat straight while glancing at his watch.

"Make it snappy," the receptionist added, before dropping phone back onto the switch hook.

A minute later, a smartly-dressed young man came to retrieve the customer waiting at the counter. The customer greeted him politely, and allowed himself to be led into a meeting room, where the banker explained that he needed to examine all the relevant documents before he could access a 444, Class Platinum safe. It was their most secure deposit safe, after all, and everything needed to be in order before they could proceed to the vaults itself.

"Signatures from three members of the board is there right on the first page," the trim-cut customer said, while handing over the file. He seemed to be watching the banker very carefully.

The banker then proceeded to examine the documents, noting the authorisation document, as well as the other required letters for the opening of the safe. He then told the customer with a smile, "It seems that everything is in order, Mr. -"

"-Rice," the customer had an odd smirk on his lips as he said his name, as if he thought his own name was hilarious. "Patrick Seashore Rice. My friends all call Paddy for short."

"Well, Mr. Rice," the banker continued on in a professional manner. "I will take you down to the vault. I assume you have the key fob."

'Mr. Rice', who was still very much amused that his made-up name had not been scrutinised, removed a small black token with _'444'_ written on it.

"Excellent. Would you give me a minute?" The banker then reached over to the telephone, dialling in a set of numbers that were too long to be for an internal call.

'Mr. Rice' then frowned, eying the young banker closely. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir," the banker answered politely with the handset still pressed against his ear. "It's just it's our protocol to call up the signers of the document - proof of authenticity - before we carry on. I hope you understand that."

"I see." The trim-cut customer's expression was unreadable as he stuck a hand into his pocket, removing a small calligraphy box and setting it in front of the man on the opposite end of the table. "Oh, I was told to hand this to you."

"This?" The young banker picked up the box in bewilderment. In that very moment his fingers touched the box, however, a massive change fell over the banker. He wasn't aware of it, of course, since it wasn't a process that could be observed with the naked human eye. However, his polite cheerful attitude suddenly vanished and he dialled a new set of numbers into the keypad, demanding in the mouthpiece, "Security."

"What?" 'Mr. Rice' was shocked. "But I gave you all the correct documents. I-" the customer suddenly paused himself, glancing around the meeting room, completely perplexed. "How did I get here?"

When the security guards came bursting in the meeting room, the banker let a careless wave at them to lower their weapons. "False alarm. I think this man has just wandered in here by accident. Could you escort him off the premises, please?"

The security guards did as they were told, dragging the babbling customer, who suddenly had no idea why he was there. The banker didn't let go of the token key, of course, though it wasn't protocol for the bankers here to keep the keys of their clients. Still, the one now controlling the actions of the young banker now didn't care if he was breaking protocol.

"Okay," came the cheerful voice of the unnoticed shadowy figure in the backdrop. "That was a close call."

13 watched as his new host gathered up the documents, holding the key fob too. The calligraphy case he tucked in the inner pocket of his coat, where it would be safe and hidden. He then departed the meeting room and his invisible, intangible shadow followed closely behind, sending him both mental and verbal instructions on what to do next. Of course, the banker wasn't actually aware of his presence. The fellow's guilt of embezzlement did the trick of hiding 13 from his notice, and that made it easier for the ghostly vigilante to steer him to do what he wanted him to do.

The vaults of the 444, Class Platinum deposit safe was located underground, as were all the vaults. In order to get there, one needed to take a special lift that was hidden at the back of the bank offices. The lift itself could only be accessed via key fob and an eye scan from an authorised staff member. Fortunately, both of these were easily provided by 13's host and the lift ride was a smooth, if not boring, one.

When they stepped out of the lift – well, 13 was practically sprinting out. Like he had said, he was in a bit of a hurry – they navigated through the maze of the vaults until they came to the vault labelled '4'. The young banker then went over to the scanner at the side of the door, where he took up out the document of signatures. He allowed the camera on the scanner to capture the image of the signatures, and the computer took a few second to process them. Eventually, the screen on the scanner told them that the authorisation signatures were approved and 13 let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. The signatures, after all, had been forged, and he had worried that they weren't close enough to the originals for the security system to recognise them. He had Flynn Rider's excellent penmanship to thank for that, he supposed.

His host then approached the vault door and turned the massive wheel attached to its circular entrance. The rolling of the heavy gears echoed through the hallways before ending with a heaving thud and the banker grabbed the grips on the side of the door, pulling it open.

The interior of vault number 4 was dark, lit only by blacklight beams from above and it was freezing inside. Both 13 and his host stepped in.

13 let out a low whistle as he scruntinised the safes, lined side by side with their respective keypads, key readers and thumbprint scanners on their opaque doors. It would be an amusing endeavour, he supposed, if he were to open all the safes here and see what valuables lay within them, but he didn't have that kind of time, so he focused on getting the safe '444' open.

The young banker approached the safe and was about to touch keypad when 13 stopped him. "If you don't mind, this is going to be a delicate procedure."

He touched the shoulder of his host and felt his fluid form merging with the body of the young banker. When he blinked, he found himself looking through different eyes, with also a sense of gravity and air pressure now pushing against his body. The banker's mind had been put to sleep, which gave 13 free reign over the motions of his body.

13, through his host's form, typed the appropriate numbers into the keypad. He didn't need to learn them, because his host already knew the code and he merely needed to dig through the memories of the snoozing mind to find what he needed. The code was correct, and the little green screen on the safe told him that he could proceed to the second step of the unlocking process.

The vigilante then proceeded to tap the key fob against the key reader, and this was met with an approving 'beep' from the safe. And now came the toughest part: getting through the thumbprint scanner. He hadn't expected it be there, if not he would have prepared for it. He supposed that it had been a recent addition.

Even though he shifted between physical bodies quite often, that wasn't to say that 13 couldn't carry anything with him. In a matter of fact, when he took possession of his host's body, he could actually alter the nature of the body such that it became essentially a physical version of his spirit form. That meant essentially that he could carry things on his person, like the twin revolvers strapped to his belt, his armour, his mask, and oh, a cell phone.

13 tapped the screen a few times, then placed the device against his ear. He glanced above him, wondering if he was in far too deep underground for the phone get a signal.

Apparently, his fears were unfounded, for he heard a familiar, high-pitch scream, _"Hellllllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"_

"Vanellope," he rebuked, pulling the phone a little distance from his ear. "Just because I can't go deaf anymore doesn't mean that my host won't. So, do you mind?"

 _"Sure. Of course. Anything for my favourite crime fighter."_ He heard the girl say, her tone patronising. He rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe that a person that young could be so annoying. _"What's up, Scar-face?"_

"I'm in the vaults of the Dunbroch Bank & Trust in Dunbuoka," 13 informed her, ignoring the insult. "I'm stuck at a thumbprint scanner. I hadn't anticipated this."

 _"Well, that sucks. Like you."_

"Not helping," he hissed in the mouthpiece. He glanced at his watch. There wasn't much time left for him to travel from here back to Burgeshima.

 _"I suppose I can scramble it for you, if you really, really want,"_ the girl drawled lazily in the phone. _"But what are you going to give me in return?"_

"I'll help you build a new car," 13 said, starting to get a little annoyed. "Now, will you help me or not?"

 _"Fine, fine, fine."_ The girl finally gave in. _"It had better be a sports car."_

"Would you please help me scramble the scanner?" Exasperation seeped into his every syllable. "Please?"

 _"Just hold the phone against the safe door, won't you?"_

13 did as he was told. To be honest, he had no idea how she did it. He had once considered himself fairly good at hacking, but he was no match to Vanellope's skill when it came to the digital world. She had a way with technology, almost like the way the Nightmare King had a way with darkness and his daughter with ice. He suspected that she might have had been a super, but with the state that she was in – that both of them were in, rather – she would never see her powers, if she had any, to fruition.

He then heard a 'whirring' sound as the lock of the safe withdrew itself. On the same screen of the safe, it read, _'Welcome, Alistair Krei.'_

He pulled the phone away, speaking into it, "Thanks. I owe you one."

 _"You bet you do."_ He heard Vanellope yawn. _"By the way, do you want some updates on the guys you've asked me to watch?"_

"If you want to tell me." The phone was sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled on the grip of the door, opening the safe. White smoke poured out from its interior, with ice bits biting on the walls of the safe door. A thermometer attached on the side of the safe wall indicated that the temperature had been set at -109 degrees Fahrenheit. Good. Krei had built the safe well.

 _"Okay. Well, the girl with the crazy red hair is still using her powers."_

"No surprise there," he murmured as he stuck his into the safe, drawing out the small black case inside it. There was a table sitting conveniently in the middle of vault, so he carried the case over to it, putting it carefully down. He sighed. "I'll have to deal with her when I get back, I suppose."

 _"You remember how you were supposed to meet that dragon boy at the mausoleum? Well, he kinda vanished. From the word from the street, I think the Yakuza got him."_

"Oh, great." Well, that was another problem that he had to deal with.

 _"Why did you even pick that place? You know that it isn't safe for normal people."_

"I forgot about that part." He groaned at himself as he typed the code into the keypad of the safe. The first layer of bolts shot open. The second would only be undone by another code that he promptly entered. "Sumin Hill is a nice, peaceful place away from the eyes of the city. I didn't think about the traps."

 _"Oh, don't worry too much about it. From what I heard of the red, crazy teleporter's trying to find him."_

"That doesn't make me feel any better," he answered as another set of locks undid themselves. Now, for the final code, which he punched in. "Her powers are dangerous."

 _"Oh, and that Big Hero 6 guy is still in the city. I'm pretty sure they're working together."_

13 frowned as the last of the bolts drew themselves back, allowing him to turn the knobs of the case and open it. "You mean Hiro?"

 _"Yeah, that guy. The boy genius. Don't know where he parked the robot though."_ He heard her shifting in her seat. _"Hey, T, you wanna know something I know that you don't?"_

"What?" White smoke emerged from the cracks as he lifted the cover of the case, revealing a humble-looking pistol with a set of bullets next to it. The bullets, however, were not resting on the Styrofoam casing like the pistol. They were instead suspended in a glass canister, frozen solid in suspension. Such a simple set of items – so difficult to retrieve.

 _"When I helped you scramble the thumbprint scanner, apparently there were a bunch of defensive algorithms I didn't notice."_ Her cocky manner had faded into a sheepish tone. _"Oops."_

He wasn't sure what it meant, but it didn't sound good. "Why's that a problem? I still got into the safe."

 _"It kind of sent a message to the Krei Tech, so they now know it's gone-"_

"I can deal with that-"

 _"-and the security personnel has been notified-"_

"-well, okay. That's unfortunate." It was more than unfortunate. He had been hoping to avoid that all together.

" _-and the vaults are going into lockdown mode in-"_ he heard her pause as she tapped her screen from her end. _"Three, two-"_

He slammed the case shut, hurling himself out of the vault just in time to see its heavy door slam shut, the wheel whirling back automatically to secure it. He then noticed just in time thick metal grills descending down the hallway, no doubt meant to stop any thieves from escaping. Cursing under his breath, he darted down the corridor, ducking his head and sprinting as fast as he could. However, just before he could reach the lift, a thick metal grill slammed right in front of him with a deafening _'BOOM'_.

A string of profanities escaped his lips as he slammed his fist against the rails. He wasn't carrying any explosives on himself right now, and even if he was, it wouldn't be advisable to make an explosion while underground. It would cause a collapse and he and his host might be trapped under the rubble forever. Placing his phone to his ear, he nearly shouted into it, _"Vanellope, can you override it?"_

There was no answer. The signal for the phone was dead. The security system might have cut it off on purpose.

He cursed again as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, struggling with what he needed to do. Eventually, he knew that he had to abandon ship. "Oh, well."

He pulled his spirit out of the young banker's body, taking with him the case, awakening his host's mind but not his consciousness. He then directed the banker to pull the calligraphy box out of his coat pocket and slide it through holes of the grill, stopping right in front of the elevator.

And then the lift doors flung open suddenly and outpoured several securities guards, some strapped in armour and all carrying firearms. "Freeze and put your hands!"

The young banker did as he was told, feeling extremely baffled about what was going, or what he was even doing here. 13, however, hidden from sight and sensation once again, merely watched and waited.

He noticed that while some of the securities personnel had stepped forward to question the intruder, one of them noticed the small box lying on the floor and picked it up, examining it curiously. 13 felt a shift in his bones and he smiled as his spirit form slipped through the grill, leaving his old host trapped behind, still completely bewildered. The vigilante didn't feel guilty about leaving the young banker behind. The fellow, after all, needed to pay for all the times he had stolen from his clients and employers.

His new host, a sour-faced ex-military middle-age type, managed to slip back in the elevator under the guise of getting more help for their situation. However, after returning to ground level, he led his host to another elevator, heading up to the highest floor of the building instead. Whilst in the body of his previous host, he had learned that there was helipad there, with some functioning helicopters parked there. As he sunk into the body of his new host, he discovered to his delight that the ex-military guy apparently was an ex-helicopter pilot.

It wasn't difficult to break into one of the vehicles and before anyone could stop him, he was sitting behind the windscreen, flickering switches and hitting buttons. 13 heard the rotary wings above him circling powerfully as the vehicle was lifted off the ground. He gazed at the bolted case that he had dropped in the empty co-pilot seat. In the insulated hard-cover, it held the tiny weapon that had cost Alistair Krei his life.

"Well, Pitch Black," the vigilante breathed as he pushed his hand against the cyclic stick, moving the helicopter forward, "here comes your doom."

* * *

1983 was a year full of incredibly good music, with hits from Billy Joel, Bonnie Tyler, Irene Cara and many others that were remarkable enough to last till our day and age.

However, it was only April at this point of time of 1983 that we were looking at. That meant that Ameripan was trapped between with two terrifying catchy songs from 'The King of Pop'. Teenagers loved those songs, of course, because _clearly_ there was something about 'Billie Jean' and 'Beat it' that was _clearly_ relatable or appealing to hormonal, rebellious youngsters.

He, however, was a not a teenager, and had not been one for thirty years. The funky, hip beats and the breathy singing left him cringing in his seat as he turned the volume of the radio decidedly down. However, even then, this music – _if_ that what it was – was far too distracting for him to focus on his reading. In the end, he gave up on listening to the radio. So he collapsed the antenna of the device and instead fitted a cassette into the centre of the player. His study was then filled with the melodramatic piano thumping of Chopin, which was much more suited to his taste.

" _Makkuro-san?_ Where are you, _Makkuro-san_?"

"In here, Michiko," he answered just as he turned the page in his book. As he often did on a Sunday night, he indulged himself in a stirring novel. The paperback for nourishment of the bibliophilic appetite was a tale of vengeance: The Count of Monte Cristo. It had a convoluted, complicated plot about the elaborate schemes that a man enacted upon those whom he had deemed to have wronged, resulting numerous deaths, tarnished reputations and revealed secrets. It was all together a very colourful, but absolutely unrealistic tale. Still, it was entertaining and he enjoyed the reprieve apart from the piles of documents that he usually had to read.

"Reading that children's book again, _Makkuro-san_?" His wife was hovering at the door, expression amused.

"This is hardly a children's book, Michiko. There's murder, scandal and way too much degenerate activity for children to hear about it," he answered loftily as he turned the page, noting from the corner of his eye that she had sidled up next to him and was resting her arm against the back of his chair. "I hope you haven't been reading this kind of material to our daughter."

"Oh, don't worry. I just got her started on Dracula last night." She idly combed a hand through his dark locks – the black strands from which his nickname had been derived. That, and his fellow soldiers had thought of him as cold and heartless. "You should see the faces she makes when it gets to the blood sucking."

He paused his reading, craning his neck up to her with an incredulous expression.

Michiko just laughed, draping her arm over his shoulder and reclining herself against him, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. "I'm only joking, _Makkuro-san_. Why're you so serious all the time?"

"You know how bad her nightmares get," he snapped, a little annoyed as he returned to his book. "I have half a mind to stop you from reading to her at all, if this is what you're bringing into her over-active imagination."

"Oh?" She sounded offended, but he knew that she wasn't really. "Aren't you the one who's always indulging her flights of fancy?"

He let out a huff of impatience. "Yes, but not on things that scare her out of her wits! I promote healthy imagination, like-" he floundered for a bit as he scrapped up the memories "well, space travel, and adventure, and botany, -"

"Space travel?" she repeated, a smirk playing on her lips.

He sent a plaintive look her way. "She may or may not idolise Neil Armstrong. One step for man, and all that nonsense."

"Well, that's-" Michiko hesitated, her mood abruptly reversed, "-that's unfortunate."

His wife suddenly became withdrawn, pulling away from him and wringing her hands together. He noticed it and immediately closed the book, because as interesting as it was, it wasn't that important. 'The Count of Monte Cristo' was abandoned on the table as he rose from his chair, reaching towards her. "Michiko-"

"I'm fine." She batted his hand away, but he still approached her anyway, taking her hand and drawing nearer to her. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm in perfect-"

"-Michiko-"

"-control of my feelings," she ended rather harshly, still looking wild-eyed, shaking shoulders betraying her. She ran a hand back through her hair roughly and blinking away the tears that had welled up abruptly in her eyes, trying to hold back the tide that he knew was banging against the door of her mind. "I just-"

He shushed her gently, wrapping her in his arms from behind and entwining her hand with his own. He could feel her breaking inside as he nuzzled against her neck. " _Mi-chan_ , you worry too much."

"I can't help it." Tears were streaming down her face.

He let out a quiet sigh, letting her cry it out for a while. He had suggested before that she should see someone about all the swings in mood she'd been having, but she was stubborn. She was a professional, she said. She wouldn't be caught dead skiving while she was healthy and able - at least, 'healthy', according to her own definition. She had a living to make, and she didn't care that his salary and 'employee' benefits were more than enough to cover their expenses. She wanted to work, was a bit obsessed with it, even. She needed a distraction from the truth - the truth lying fast asleep two doors away from them.

"She's never going to-"

"-no, she might. Wait and see. She'll surprise us all."

"She'll never make it to that-"

"Yes, she will." His grip over her hand was strong. "You have to learn to believe, Michiko."

" _You_ believe, Kozmotis. The gods never gave me what I want." Whenever the nicknames stopped, it was never a good sign. He pulled away from only to turn her to face him. Tears pelted down on his _yukata_ and her speech was slipping as her throat closed up, expression torn between fury and grief. "By the time a donor turns up, she won't even be-"

She broke it off at that point of time, and thank the gods for that, because he wasn't sure of how to respond. It was an unnatural position for him to be in, to be honest. He had always been a serious, stern sort of fellow, so having to be the optimist in the situation was incredibly exhausting. But his military days had taught him how to trek a mountain, dig a trench and hold the line under less than two days of sleep, so exhaustion was something he had no fear of. In fact, some would say, there was very little that he did fear.

Perhaps then it was no wonder that people thought he really was heartless. That deep inside him, there was nothing but hollow, dark cavity of emptiness. Those who knew him well knew better, of course, but by repute alone, all he was was _'Makkuro'_ – black like soot. As black like pitch.

It was at that moment the telephone rang. He was reluctant to get it, not with his wife still struggling to hold the pieces of herself. But Michiko was a stubborn woman, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm and shoving him towards his work desk. "Go. I'll be alright."

He started to say something, but the ringing became more insistent, so he left her to wipe her tears as he marched over to the phone, picking up the handset. Whoever was on the other side of the line had better have a good reason for calling on a Sunday night. "Hello?"

 _"General Pitchiner, thank the heavens we got to you!"_ The voice on the other line sounded relieved, but there was urgency at the back of it nonetheless. _"We need down you at the HQ pronto, sir! Something terrible's happened!"_

"What's going on?" he asked, taken aback by the abrupt news. He shot a glance to Michiko, who was forcing herself to take deep breaths in and out, staring determinedly upwards as if by force she could keep the tears from rolling down.

 _"Look out of the window, sir."_

He grabbed the entire telephone – handset and dial pad – and carried it over to the window, hoping that the mounting cord was long enough not to snap. He gazed out in the night as he was told. At first, he didn't notice anything remarkable. But narrowing his eyes and focusing, he realised what exactly was drifting in the wind and his mouth fell open. "But, how-"

 _"I can't_ _explain_ _on the phone, sir. Besides,_ _Director Lunanoff wants to tell you about it himself."_

"Manuel?" This whole situation was getting more puzzling with each moment. "What does the NSA have to do with this?" On second thought, he supposed such a peculiar situation as this could only be a result of an NSA matter.

"Daddy?" A small, high-pitched voice suddenly popped in. He swung around to face the doorway, an action that his tearing wife imitated. The little girl standing there had one hand clutching her toy pony while the other was scratching at her chest. Her face was twisted in distress as her eyes darted to her mother, then back to him. "I don't feel so good."

Kozmotis watched in horror as his daughter suddenly stiffened up and collapsed.

* * *

" _Kumicho-sama_ , about your daughter-"

His head jerked up at the unexpected interruption, rising to his feet up at the same time, his hands clenched by his side. Shadows sprung up behind him, flooding his feet and surroundings, eager to strike.

The nurse jumped back, startled by the ominous shapes that had appeared. She readjusted her spectacles, holding her clipboard to her chest while her eyes rounded with in shock.

Sensing no threat and instead a disgusting amount of fear, Pitch pulled the reins on the shadows, feelings the darkness retreat with unwillingness as he clasped his hands behind him, gazing down at the shaking woman in uniform. "Yes?"

"Your daughter is fine. All her wounds have been t-treated and dressed, sir," the nurse said, still eyeing the shadows behind him with evident trepidation. "She can be discharged right this moment if you-"

He pushed past her, ignoring the little gasp she made when her body collided against the lamp standing in the corner of the waiting room. He walked into the ward - the single bed kind with a luxurious silk curtains and a wide screen TV, along with an adjacent sitting room, because as mad as he was with her, he wasn't going to let her have anything but the best – and drawled out, "Well, I hope you've wasted enough time here, because we need to-"

The ward bed was empty, with the side rail pushed down and the covers thrown over the side.

Flustered and annoyed, he made a hasty exit out of the room, asking the nurse, who was hovering outside. "Where is she?"

"She said that she wanted to find her sister, _Kumicho-sama_ ," another voice piped in. It was a health attendant, standing by the side of a push cart, who answered. When his gaze settled on her, she bowed in respect, continuing on, "She seems quite anxious to leave the bed the whole time, _Kumicho-sama_ , as if the wounds hardly bothered her at all."

"She doesn't have a sister," he contradicted, frowning. For all his daughter insistence to keep her birth sister safe, she seemed to have become quite careless with whom she revealed this relationship to. He was displeased with it, for the last thing that he wanted was for that silly, dimwitted schoolgirl to get involved in their lives. But perhaps the horse from that stable had already bolted. "Which ward did she go?"

Walking on the floor of the lower class wards filled him with much irritation. Pitch Black didn't like moving around the plebeian masses as if he was one of them. Well, with his pale complexion and imposing stature, there was no way that he would ever be mistaken for one of them, but being forced to rub shoulders with the commoners without any intention of ripping the fears from their heart or throwing them out of the window felt incredibly unnatural, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he entered the plain, unimpressive, six-bed ward. Relief that only one bed out of the six were filled helped sooth a little of his wounded pride, but the scene before him still stirred in him a sense of unease.

His daughter stood three away from the foot of the bed, hands clasped and eye fixed on the comatose patient. The girl on the bed had bandages wrapped around her head and neck, with some kind of contraption keeping her chin from moving. There were splotches of bruises on the skin that could still be seen under the plastic mask, and her eyes were closed.

"What's she dreaming about?" Elsa didn't even look at him. For the ten years that he had her under his care, he had taught her to bow at his entrance and to give him her undivided attention in his presence. She had kept to it – except the rare occasions that she lost her temper – and he had been pleased with that. But here, she barely notice him.

He realised what she was asking him to do and though he considered flat-out rejecting her, he could see the fright in her posture and the tears in her eyes. Pitch sighed silently as he reached his mind out to the sleeping girl, his shadows passing into thought, searching the deepest recesses of her soul. He saw flashes of memory, a dark twisted version of the cathedral, and too often, the face of his daughter being slaughtered over and over. Never had he seen a sight in someone else's mind that bothered him as that of the Arendelle girl.

"Nothing," he lied, because last thing he was going to do was tell his daughter that her birth sister was dreaming of her. It was evident beyond doubt that the birth sister had recognized her by now, and the whole truth was out – even the ice. He turned to Elsa, but she didn't turn to him, just staring mournfully at the unconscious girl, as if with her eyes she could heal her.

Elsa let out then a sigh, and sounded like one in relief. "Good. I'm glad."

She wrapped her gloved hands around herself and it was as she did that he noticed the bandages that crept down from the back of her neck all the way down to her spine. When he had found her at the shattered cathedral, she had bleeding through her clothes there. Even with it patched out, it left a slight uneasiness inside of him that she had been so closed to being paralysed for life – or even killed.

And then he heard a small cry from her lips, broken and tearful, "Oh, Anna. I'm so sorry."

She took a step forward, but ice crept from under that shoe, spreading out in swirls and fractals. Pitch grimaced. With her emotions this loose, she shouldn't be out in public. Besides, the gala was starting in a few hours' time. They had other things to do – things that did not include crying over unconscious birth sisters.

"Elsa," he said, no gentleness in his manner but also no unnecessary harshness. "We have to go. The gala is in a few hours."

"But-" she unknowingly stretched a hand out towards to the girl wrapped in bandages.

"There's nothing you can do for her," he intoned dryly, straightening out his robes as he glanced at the clock hanging off the wall. "Besides, people would be expecting us. If we don't turn up, Shen and his people would hear of it and consider it a victory."

"You do realise it's because of your Yakuza that she's in this state," a cold hiss came from her, a jab that he had not been expecting. "You and your ridiculous gang wars."

But Pitch composed himself quickly, folding his arms and correcting her, "No. It's because _you_ that she was there in the first place."

Though he could not read her, he could read his daughter's behaviour. By how she balled her hand to her chest and lowered her head, he knew that she completely agreed with his statement.

He placed a hand on her arm, making sure that it wasn't one of the wounded areas. "Come, let's go. We can have them update you on her status if you like."

He rather hoped that she would take that option. He didn't want to come back here, and he hoped that she didn't want either. Elsa's returned back to the role of a submissive daughter, letting him lead her out of the ward. But even as he dragged her away, her head was swung back, still staring at the girl in the bed until it was far out of sight.

"We'll have to get a new dress to hide the bandage," he said to her, trying to distract her with a new topic. "The last thing I want if for everyone to know how close the assassin came to kill you."

"Of course," was her absent-minded answer.

"For the sake of the girl, I don't think you should visit her in the hospital either," he went on, keeping his tone matter-of-fact though he was seething inside. "The more you are there, the more dangerous it is for her. You realise that, don't you?"

"Yes, Father." She nodded, but there was too much sorrow in her for him to see it.

Just as they made the turn to the lift lobby, a familiar blonde fellow appeared around the corner. A brief touch of his mind was all it took for Pitch to place the face of the fellow reporter who had accompanied the Arendelle girl. By the plasters on his face and arms, he had been treated for his injuries, which were mostly superficial. He was standing perfectly fine on two feet and his eye sight was in no way impaired, if his wide-eyed stare was anything to go by.

"Kumicho-sama." And he bowed. So apparently, he was not too stupid to learn proper etiquette. His eye then turned to Elsa, and his expression became mysterious. He inclined his head towards her. "Ms. Elsa Black."

Pitch had planned to just pass him by at that point, but his daughter called the lad, "Let me know when she wakes up. Please."

The blonde boy watched her for a moment, before nodding respectfully once again. "Of course."

"Thank you." There was a bit too much gratefulness in the expression of those words. Pitch tugged his daughter to leave.

As they stood side by side in the elevator, just the two of them, Pitch found himself eyeing the girl next to him. Her eyes were raised as the door closed, and they remained tilted up as they descended, and he knew that she was thinking of the girl she had left behind. Not just in the hospital, but also in Arenashi – to become the sisterless child she was.

He couldn't read his daughter's fears, but just by the way she acted, he knew that inwardly Elsa still cared for her birth sister. And now that the sister knew the truth, who could say what she might do? She might want to drag Elsa back to Arenashi, to resume her old name and to restore her last familial connection. He was sure there was part of his daughter who would also like to go.

His expression didn't change, but on the inside, he boiled. Pitch did not enjoy his daughter's loyalty being split. No, the redheaded reporter knew nothing about how to handle a cryokinetic, especially one's whose powers were so intricately-linked to emotions as his daughter's. As a normal person, she wouldn't understand the full weight of having powers – the trauma, the burden, the _curse_.

Elsa needed him for that. Elsa needed to stay. Elsa wanted to stay.

…she did want that, right?

The lift ride was silent.

* * *

He had managed to get a bouquet from the florist right before they closed up. So it was getting a little late and he was cutting it a little close, but it would be worth it. He rarely invested in things that weren't, after all.

Hans was quite familiar with the National Hospital of Burgeshima. Indeed, he had just left this place this morning, after he was discharged along with Merida after they had escaped with the Big Hero 6 leader from the White Peacock Triad. He had also recalled several times in his career that he had visited this place, finding his witnesses wrapped in bandages and strapped in tubes, conveniently in no position to testify in court. It was also a place where one of the most defining moment of his life had occurred, but that was a tale for another time.

For now, he would settle for her ward address.

"Visiting hours are going to end soon," the attendant at the counter spoke dubiously. "'Sides, only family's allowed."

He knew from what Anna had told him that she didn't have any family, so if he lied about being related, it wasn't at the cost of anyone else. Yet, he wasn't comfortable with presenting himself that way. So, he instead said, "I'm her boyfriend."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He wouldn't really mind if it became a reality. Soon.

Apparently, the 'boyfriend' card worked and he got the information that he decided. He then proceeded towards the lift landing, only for his feet to halt themselves abruptly as soon as he saw the two who walked out the parting doors of the lift. His eyes immediately darted around, seeking a suitable refuge. He did not want to be seen by the emerging party.

He noted a pillar just a little way from him and promptly hopped behind it, clutching the flowers in one hand while peeking around the curved sides of the pillar. He watched as the dark pale man and his fair-haired daughter go straight to the exit of the hospital, neither of them having noticed him at all. When they disappeared through the revolving doors, he let out a sigh of relief and headed to the lift landing, getting onto the next one that came by. Some of the staff who had observed his behaviour shot him peculiar looks, but then shrugged and chose to let him alone.

After arriving at the correct floor, he swept out into the corridor, avoiding the rushing nurses and the push-cart lying around, going straight to the ward in question. He frowned as he noted how easily it had been for him to get in here. Had he been a fellow of lesser intentions, this could have been probably extremely disturbing.

The open air ward was almost completely empty save for one bed. When he stepped towards it, he had to read the name of the board hanging of the foot before he could believe that it was really her. "Oh, gods, how, -"

"What are you doing here?" A cutting tone sliced through his thoughts, making him jump.

The flowers in his hand almost slipped and he spent a moment or two trying to keep it from falling out of his grip. He succeeded, catching his balance before shooting a glare at the burly blonde fellow sitting next to the bed. As far as Hans could see, he didn't seem to have bandages, just a plaster under his chin and a greenish gel smeared across the scar on his cheek. It struck him as rather unfair that one half of the pair from Arenashi was so gravely injured while the other seemed quite fine.

"I'm visiting," he finally gave his short answer, walking over to the girl's side and laying the flowers there. Here, he got a closer view of her wounds and he would have blanched, had he not seen far worse before.

"Really? And you two've met like what – twice?" the blonde guy, with the unpronounceable name that he couldn't quite place, remarked with definite scepticism.

"Even if we have only met twice," Hans said stiffly, furrowing his brows, "that doesn't make it less appropriate to visit someone you know to be hospitalised under sudden notice. Or perhaps someone such as you do not understand such common courtesies?" The jab there was plainly heard by the coldness of his words, and the young lawyer couldn't feel very ashamed with his rudeness. This blonde fellow was quite unpleasant to be around, and he wondered how on Earth Anna could stand to work with such a surly grouch.

Fortunately, the blonde hulk of a university student did shut up after that, only letting out a snort before starting to examine bandages on his arms. Hans bent his head down on the girl, eyes dipping down to her pale countenance.

Even in this state, with bandages swathed around her, there was something still remarkably charming he found about her. Perhaps it was the way she seemed so innocent, so optimistic and so full of life. He saw the world through the lens of cynicism and bitterness, and her contrasting personality attracted him like the way opposite poles attracted one another. He had never quite met a girl like her, and he was not quite ready to let her go. "How did this happen?"

"Hmm?" The other patient sitting in the chair lifted his head towards him.

"I heard on the television that there was a terror attack," Hans elaborated, brushing a lock of strawberry blonde away from the girl's face.

"'Terror attack'," the boy muttered in a way that indicated that it was not indeed a 'terror attack'.

"What do you mean?" Hans probed quietly, studying the bandages. Noting that the fellow across the bed was not looking in his direction – rather, distracted by a fly that flown into the room – he pulled back on the straps, trying to take a peek at the skin. Purple, bruised, definitely internal bleeding. By the cast they put her neck it might even have some fractures. It could take her months to recover – maybe even a year or two. He didn't have that kind of time.

"It was more like a battle than a terror attack." There was a sneer in the reporting intern's voice as he spoke. "A totally overpowered dude taking on a dozen armed soldiers then beating them to a pulp."

"Soldiers?"

"Gangsters. Bodyguards. Men in black." The blonde shrugged, then gave a shudder. "They all died."

"The Nightmare Yakuza?" Hans guessed. "And the opposing partner would be … the White Peacock Triad?"

"Well, definitely the Yakuza. Not so sure about whatever – Triad thing you're talking about." The boy then sat himself up straight, gaze levelled at the lawyer. "How did you figure it out so fast?"

"Well, after living here long enough, you get a feel of who's up to what," was Hans' reply, pulling away from Anna just in time. He took up her hand instead, which was surprisingly warm in his own and brought it to his lips, watching her with a mix of affection and concern. He then asked, "I suppose the target was Elsa Black, then?"

"Yeah," the boy answered slowly, narrowing his brows suspiciously at him. "How did you know?"

"She's a common target," Hans said, still not taking his eyes from Anna. "The precious darling to the _Kumicho_ of the Yakuza, after all." He said the word _Kumicho_ as if it tasted of poison – and to him, it really did. "So much as pronouncing her name wrongly could have you hanging suspended from a lamp post and beaten like a piñata."

The image must have sounded humorous to the Arenashi, because he let out a low chuckle. "Is that what happened to you?"

"No," Hans glanced at the clock hanging off the wall. He needed time to head back to the apartment to change later, so it wouldn't do to leave too late either. Still, peering down at the broken, weak form lying on the bed, he felt that it wouldn't be right he just left her in this state. "What happened to me was that I was stripped naked, mutilated repeated with a _santoku_ all while being choked with a chain, stabbed in the stomach and subsequently left to die in a gutter." He said all this in a dry, emotionless manner.

"Hilarious," the other guy snorted, then noticed his expression. "Wait, that was a joke, right?"

Hans merely gave him a grim smile. "Of course."

His attentions then turned back to the girl, whose face was scrunched up, her forehead wrinkled. Whether it meant that she was in pain or that she was having a bad dream, or that it meant nothing at all, he didn't honestly know. Whatever it was, he hoped that he could put her out of her misery. It was starting to make him feel rather miserable. "Do you mind if we had a moment alone?"

The blocky fellow stared at him as if he just asked him to hand over the moon.

"I'll like to speak with her, and I'd rather that you didn't hear it," Hans explained.

The dense, stubborn fellow then pointed out, "She's unconscious."

"So?"

"She's not going to talk back to you."

"Yes, that's true," Hans conceded testily. "But it doesn't mean that she can't hear me."

The reporting intern shot him a quizzical look, but eventually did get off his bottom and made it for the hospital door. It was then the young lawyer noted his stagger and the cast around one of his legs. Well, good. So he didn't get out of the whole incident unscathed.

When he was sure that he was alone, Hans turned back to the battered, bruised girl. He took her hand back in his – it had slipped out of his hold somehow – and squeezed it gently. As ridiculous as it looked, he said to her, "Hey."

She didn't respond. Forgivable, since she was after all unconscious.

"Funny how quickly you managed to get yourself in trouble," he said, smiling despite himself and the situation. "That, and you've managed to survive this city for so long." He let out a little laugh, brushing her pale cheek with the back of his index finger.

Hans then sighed, his shoulder drooping a little as his hand went into his pocket, remove the antique watch sitting there. Sitting in his palm, he traced his thumb over the engraved revolution patterns of Saturn on the cover, before pressing the button on its side. The lid popped open to reveal the polished crystal surface of the watch, with the second hand twirling smoothly on the pivot, while the minutes and hours hands stood almost stark still, waiting for the opportunity to shift. He closed the lid, locking it with a 'click'.

He then placed the watch on the palm of the sleeping girl, cupping her limp hand with his own so that her fingers cupped the device. He guided her thumb to the button on the side, and with his help, her finger pressed onto the button, making the lid fly open just as he uttered, _"Tempus edax rerum."_

He watched as the hands of his pocket watch flew backwards, spinning wildly in circle after circle, first the second hand, then the minute hand, then the hour hand. He watched as the girl's appearance began to change. The pallor in her cheeks left and her healthy flush reappeared. The sagged posture she had adopted before had changed and he had no doubt the discoloration of her neck slowly faded under the bandages. All this while, Hans would glance occasionally at the wall clock to count the seconds.

Then he made her finger jab the button on the clock, making the spinning stop. He noticed that her breathing had eased greatly. If anything, all the bandages and casts meant to support her now made her shift uncomfortably in the bed, muttering all while scratching against her bandages. Hans quickly pocketed the watch before pressing on the button by the side of the bed that sent a nurse running into the ward.

"What's the matter?" The nurse glanced at Hans, then at the patient scraping against the uncomfortable weight that was around her neck, mumbling curses. The nurse hurried over to Anna's side, batting away her hand as she went to check on the bandages, finally deciding to help the girl remove them. Hans heard it when Anna let out a happy sigh as the layers of cloths were removed from her neck and her eyes fluttered open. Dazed, they darted around and she spoke up, her voice thin but clear, "What the – where am I?"

"Burgeshima National Hospital," the nurse answered promptly, finally peeling back the last layer. The uniformed healthcare professional was stunned as she stared down the wounds on the neck. There was still a bit bruising visible – he didn't want to do _too_ good a job, after all – but it was clearly very, very much better in appearance compared to before. "Impossible. Just a few hours ago… it's a miracle."

"Why am -" the girl managed to toss herself back and forth, blinking away the brightness as she pushed herself to a sitting position. The nurse was rather alarmed when she did that, stepping forward to stop her but checked herself when she realized that the girl was more than capable of sitting up without help, and even turning her head without sign of pain. Anna rubbed the front of her throat though, because there was bound to be some discomfort remaining, but not enough to hinder her speech or movement any longer. She then spotted him and her entire face lit up. "Hans."

He gave her small smile. "Hi."

She grinned back widely, then frowned when she glanced down at herself, from the hospital gown to the bed she was sitting on. "Why am I-"

"The cathedral, remembered?" He stepped in to remind her. It usually took a while for the individual to link their old memories with present ones. "You were hurt by someone during the attack and fell unconscious."

"Right. Tai Lung has a nasty grip." She felt against her neck uneasily, then cocked her head at him. "Why are you here?"

"I'm going to get the doctor," the nurse announced, clearly mystified by the whole situation. She gave a nod to both Hans and Anna before making her hurried exit. The two didn't really seem to notice, of course, because they were pretty much enraptured by the presence of the other, grinning like the happy fools they were. He lifted his hand towards her and she shyly took it, a blush rising to her cheeks as she did. It wasn't hard to remember what he liked about her.

Finally, Hans spoke up, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

* * *

"Jamie, can you get the door?" She was in a bit of a hurry. Work ended a little later than she had expected and now she only had three hours to go before the gala started. _Three._ Sure, it'd only take an hour to get dressed, and fifteen minutes to reach her destination by taxi, but there were other things she needed to do in preparation, like rehearse some mind tricks and practice using her psychic sword. She had after all only rediscovered how to unlock the weapons hidden in her psyche. There were still many things she had yet to be able to dig out of her consciousness, like her armour, her wings, her fighting abilities-

The bell rang again, more insistent than the last time. It was then she remembered the boy had told her he'd gone over to ask one of their neighbours if they could lend him an _obi_ for his kimono. Sophie was still taking her nap, so that left her as the only person available in the apartment.

Tooth let a groan as she dropped and unhooked the tangled _sari_ from her waist, throwing the fabric over her shoulder instead as a scarf. Deeming herself suitably modest in her petticoat and blouse, she stomped out of her room, countenance twisted into an irritated grimace as she turned the knob of the front door, yanked it open and asked, "Can I help you?"

At the door stood a wrinkled, bespectacled elderly man in a suit and by his side a young punkster in leather, wearing a cap and sunglasses, along with something long strapped to his back. The elderly man, who she felt was rather familiar in appearance, spoke to her, "Dr. Nithya Kadni?"

"Yes?" she raised her brow.

"Rick Dicker." He stuck a large but bony hand towards her. "We've met before."

And then she realised why she recognised him.

Glancing up and down the corridor, Tooth ushered the agent and his companion into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind them. If Jamie wished to return into the apartment, he would have to wait outside for a while. No sooner had she let them in didthe young punkster let out a loud exhale, ripping his sunglasses off, revealing the blue eyes see knew so well. "Well, that's went surprisingly well."

When he removed his cap to expose his dyed brown hair, with the white roots already coming into view, Tooth gasped before launching her arms around him. The lad was a little surprised, but returned the hug nonetheless, chuckling slightly.

"What happened?" She glanced from Jack, then to Agent Rick and she paled. "Oh, no."

"Yes, Dr. Kadni," the agent confirmed her, expression severe and even a little condemning. "The NSA know that he's back. If anyone else was handling this case, he would be in prison, or Canada, by now."

"Canada?" Tooth repeated, glancing at the boy, who was stripping off the raincoat that he had worn to hide his lanky form.

"I heard it's nice and cold on the mountains," was all Jack said in response, unstrapping the long thing from his back – his staff, she realized. Then he stared at Tooth, or rather, at her clothes. "Wow. A sari? Haven't seen you one in ages."

She wouldn't admit it, of course, but she felt a flush rising to her cheeks at that moment.

"Fortunately, it's me who been put in charge this round," the agent had droned on, not caring that about the other conversation that was happening. "I'm a man who can be reasoned with. Mr. Frost, as agreed," he turned to Jack, who straightened himself up immediately, "you have forty-eight hours to find this other cryokinetic and bring him-"

"-her," Jack corrected.

"-in for questioning – preferably at his, or _her_ , free will. We do want to avoid conflict, after all." Agent Rick removed his glasses to wipe them against his shirt. "Should you fail to do so however, we expect you return to the NSA quietly and subject yourself to whatever we've decided."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it at the eighth time you said it." The boy rolled his eyes. "You got anything I should know?"

"Dr. Kadni." The old agent turned to face her. "You are expected to ensure that he complies."

"Of course." She nodded.

"In the future, kindly refrain from lying to us. It looks very bad on your record and we might have to suspend you from service." He then set his glasses on his nose, squinting at them through thick yellowed lenses. "Well, I'll take my leave before the Yakuza notices my presence. Good luck, Jack." For all his gruffness, he did seem to mean the last sentence.

When he departed, Jack's swivelled towards her, saying, "So... spying for the NSA, huh?"

She made a noncommittal noise. "If I was going to have to kowtow to Pitch, I rather it'd be worth something."

"Hmm." Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully. She could tell that while he wasn't all that impressed by this news, it was much better than thinking that she was part of the Nightmare Yakuza. His next question was more light-hearted. "What's with the get-up?"

"There's a party tonight, hosted by Pitch and his crew," she told him, beckoning him to follow her to kitchen side of the room. As he slid himself into a chair by the dining table, she picked up the kettle and filled it at the tap. "The NSA wants me to keep a look out for high-end members there that might be implicated in Yakuza business."

She left out the part that she was also on a private mission of her own tonight. Jack would certainly support her more than the NSA would – he knew how dangerous Pitch was – but she also feared that he might stop her if he calculated the cost himself.

"Okay." He watched her as she filled the tea pot generously with matcha powder.

She sensed there was something he wanted to ask her. "What?"

"I was hoping to get your help on finding my imposter, actually." He tapped his fingers nervously on the table surface, as if she wasn't sure about her reaction to this. "I know you said that your powers are not exactly top-notch quality, since – you know – but I figure that you could try-"

"My powers are back."

"-like and see if you can – wait," Jack broke himself off, eyes widening. "What?"

She decided to give him a little demonstration. Stepping away from the kitchen counter, she channeled her energy into her surrounding, reaching out towards it while digging into herself at the same time. In her palms, two long scimitars emerged, glowing with an unnatural light. Jack's eyes only seemed to get even larger and a grin stretched itself on his face.

"Well, I can't do everything that I used to be able to do," she said quickly, hoping to clamp down on any excessive optimism that he might bear while the psychic swords vanished from her hands.

"But don't you get it, Tooth." Too late – he was already excited. "Your powers are coming back. Not all at once maybe, but eventually it all will. This is amazing! Don't you see? You can be a hero again!"

"What?" How had he jumped so quickly to that conclusion? "Jack, I don't think you understand. I don't really want to be a-"

The door opened at that moment, and it occurred to Tooth that leaving unlocked like that was actually very dangerous. Fortunately, the one who entered the apartment was only Jamie, with the borrowed _obi_ slung over his shoulder. He caught sight of Jack sitting at the table however and immediately dropped his acquired item, darting towards the skinny boy and engulfing him in as big a hug as an eleven-year old could. "Jack, you're okay!"

"Haha." The elder boy ruffled the lad's hair, pushing him back to hold him at arm's length. "I see that you're still in one piece."

"Oh, oh!" The boy noted the staff that he had dumped onto the couch. "So she did give it back to you after all. Cool."

"She?" Tooth repeated in surprise, while Jack followed Jamie's gaze to the staff, expression changing rapidly.

"Jamie, -" he grabbed the boy by the shoulders, "-have you met someone who with ice powers like me?"

The young lad nodded, but added defensively, "She wasn't all that bad, though her mask made her look a little scary. Flynn said that she was his friend though."

"You saw Flynn?" was what Tooth gasped at the same time as when Jack exclaimed, "She's friends with Flynn?"

"Yesterday night, yep," Jamie confirmed. "She took the staff to look after it. I didn't know that both you knew each other."

"We don't. I mean, we didn't," Jack mumbled, scratching his head.

Seeing the puzzled expression from both the child and the woman, he eventually explained to them how he encountered the 'imposter' the night before and how they both worked to escape the Yakuza forces together, only for himself to be captured by the NSA. He could assume that his female counterpart had managed to escape, if the Yakuza had yet to cease their search for him. He also mentioned having worked with a young amateur of a Super, whom was also taken in by the NSA, but he had heard from Agent Dicker that she was being sent back to her city.

"What does she look like?" Tooth asked, suddenly feeling an odd suspicion creeping onto her.

"Blonde hair – leaning more on white than yellow though, -"

"She's quite tall," Jamie piped in.

"-quite slender, blue eyes – dark blue eyes," Jack finished, then sighed. "Of course, there are probably plenty of people in these features."

"But a considerable less of that category who know Flynn," Tooth answered quietly, pouring the now-boiled water from the kettle into the teapot. As she dropped the lid over the pot, the wheels of her mind were turning. Though she had lost most of her powers to create physical psychic projections, her abilities of telepathy were not that weak. Unlike what she had told the NSA, there were things that she had picked up along the way during her time in association with the Nightmare Yakuza – things that were supposed to be hidden in the safety of one's mind. Things that were supposed to be impossible to discover, unless there was telepath in their midst. "I think I know where I can help you find your imposter."

"You do?" Jack was surprised. The boy standing by his side appeared a little confused – of course, he didn't really understand why Jack wanted to find the other cryokinetic.

"Yes." Tooth walked over to the fridge, where the glossy invitation card for the gala was pinned on its door with a magnet. Removing it and gazing down at the details of the card, she then asked, "What did you do with the suit I bought for you yesterday?"

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **That's a day in the life of 13. If you didn't understand the whole 13 scene, basically: 13, while possessing the body of the NSA agent, goes to the Dunbroch bank. He then switches bodies to the banker, and goes down to vaults to retrieve the special case from Krei's deposit safe. He then switches bodies to one of the security guards and escapes via helicopter with his prize.**

 **His powers are ...complicated, so I don't blame you if you don't get it this time. It might make more sense later on.**

 **If you know me, I love writing about Pitch and his backstory is always lots of fun. In this story, his wife's Japanese and her name is Michiko (Lady Pitchiner had no canonical first name in the Guardians books). More will unrevealed about her and their, ahem, daughter, though if you've read 'The Nightmare King's Daughter (a companion series I have written), you might have know what happened to what happened to his wife at least.**

 **Makkuro means 'pitch black' in Japanese. Not sure if this was used in the Japanese translation of ROTG – probably not.**

 _ **Santoku**_ _ **bōchō**_ **is an all purpose kitchen knife that originates in Japan. I think it's supposed to be quite famous and stuff.**

 **Oh, Hans has some secrets of his own, but that's no surprise, is it?**

 **Up Next: Rapunzel is on a manhunt. 13 schemes. The party is going down...**

* * *

 **A/N: Well, it's going to be a while before I update again. School work's been piling up, you know, and all that jazz. Yep.**

 **Would like a review if you can spare one, but eh, it's up to you really. I can't pretend I don't enjoy writing this story.**

 **Review. Ask Question. Critique.**


	27. Chpt 26: Olive Wreaths & Unrepentant The

Chapter 26: Olive Wreaths & Unrepentant Thieves

* * *

Apparently, not going to cathedral had been a very, very good idea. Considering that now the stone building was a crumbling lump of cinders and Nightmares were now crawling all over it like ants, he would have been nabbed for sure, and that would have been the end of Flynn Rider's unspectacularly mediocre life.

The young man in question took another mouthful of the sour liquid as the television played the newscast over and over, emphasizing the tragedy much more than necessary. His shoulders were hunched forward and his expression grim. The bartender, who had initially tried to strike up some polite small talk, now left him to his own devices – in which 'his devices' literally referred to the way he spun his phone on the table top.

The inhabitants of Burgeshima's European quarter were largely of German descent, hence it was no surprise that it was known better as 'Germantown'. It was a drab, musty precinct with little to no commercial development. If you were visiting the city and asked the Japanese-speaking majority how to find Germantown, chances were that you just would get a blank stare.

Perhaps then it made sense that this was his chosen hiding place. It was outside the 'Black Hole' of the city, after all. The chances of him running into a Yakuza-member here was already low, so the chances of him running into a Yakuza-member that recognized his face was even lower. If he was careful, he could lay low here for a while, make the Yakuza think that he had somehow evaded their forces and they'd let their guard down. Then, and only then, would he take the bike and cross the borders of the city.

Of course, there still lay the problem of getting a dermatologist.

With his good hand, he undid the top button of his shirt – the weather was sweltering, and the lack of air-conditioning in the pub did him no favours. In doing so, he caught sight of the black swirls that were inked near his collar. He had them done when he was seventeen, and he hated it. He hated the way the shadow like-vines encased the whole of him as if chains, branded upon his skin like a slave-mark.

Unexpectedly, he felt a hand grab his shoulder. Flynn immediately swung about his stool, knocking the hand off at the same time and shot a glare at the one who had disturbed him.

The burly fellow was not intimidated by his gesture, being twice his height and four times his weight. He reeked three weeks' worth of body odour and five years' service in jail, with scars on his face and faded bruises on his knuckles to prove it. With his ridiculously large hand, he all but shoved the screen of his phone into Flynn's face, growling out, "Is this you?"

It took a while for young brunette to focus his eyes down to the tiny screen. He noted the hastily sketched, quite unflattering portrait of himself set over a caption that promised a hefty sum for him – alive or dead. He could lie. He could put an accent and pretend to be a tourist, not the wayward gangster that the poster indicated him to be.

But sadly, Flynn Rider was ruled by his vanity and all he could say was, "Seriously? They can't get my nose right."

* * *

Maximus was ridiculously fast.

Within two hours, including a ten-minute pee break and two separate throwing-up sessions, they had arrived in Burgeshima a good hour or two before sundown. The motorcycle hadn't really stayed on the highway throughout though, detouring once to ride up a hill, then through a cornfield and also another time through a drain. It was altogether a bizarre experience and Rapunzel was not sure if she was too keen on repeating it.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Max," she whispered to the bike under her as they rolled down the streets, swerving down alleys that were unfamiliar. She heard a static crackle, which she had come to recognise as Maximus responding to her comments.

In being the property of the National Supers Agency, Max was well-stocked with an extraordinary database of functions, which allowed her to tap into people's phones (she didn't actually read their messages – she had a huge respect for people's privacy), plot escape routes (which was useful in helping her escape the NSA headquarters), and track down individuals just by facial recognition alone.

The bike finally slowed along a narrow road, with building so old that they seemed to be falling over each other, with overgrowth trees and creeping ivies covering every bare inch of wall. The girl stopped the vehicle behind a lamp post, removing her helmet, glancing around her dubiously. "Are you sure this is the right place, Max?"

The bike vroomed in affirmation.

She climbed of the bike, glancing at her surroundings. There was no one around. All the shops around were closed for the Sunday, so there was no one that she could ask directions from. Pascal, who had climbed out from her pocket and now sat on her shoulder, did not seem to notice anything either.

"Perhaps my drawing wasn't good enough," Rapunzel lamented, leaning her weight against the bike and sighing.

For that was how Maximus had derived their current location. She had shown him the sketch that she had done previously of Flynn Rider and Max had, with his super bike powers, accessed satellite images, CCTVs, phone cameras and many other surveillance materials in Burgeshima to hone down on his location, which brought them to their present location. That said, computer logarithms could make mistakes and considering her sketch was based on memory, there was room for error all around.

"Maybe we should try another part of the city." Rapunzel swerved the handlebars of the bike, intending to steer it elsewhere. However, she stopped when she heard the sound of breaking glass and hollering.

She spun around, tracing the source of the sounds to be further upstreet. With an encouraging nod from Pascal and whirr from Max, she pushed the bike forward, towards a seedy, standalone establishment that was curved into a tree. A sign hung by its door, reading, 'The Snuggly Duckling.'

"Well, I do like ducklings," she smiled to herself, until a furious yell from within startled her. She prepared to draw herself back – no point engaging in unnecessary battles – but one of the vehicles parked outside the Snuggly Duckling was a bit too familiar. Rapunzel let go of Max for a moment, hurrying over to the object that had caught her attention and she gasped as she realised what it was.

It was her bike. The very same that Flynn Rider had stolen from her.

Her eyes darted to the seedy building, her ears catching onto a higher pitched yell that she had heard before. Max was certainly the bloodhound of motorcycles.

She hid herself in a dark corner beside the free-standing establishment, quickly switching into her costume. It took more time than she liked, and by the time she had slapped her domino mask into place, the ruckus from within seemed to have gotten worse. She sucked in a breath as she willed her hair blonde, letting the locks extend themselves till they swept the floor. Pascal took refuge with Maximus, just in case the fight was bad. Steeling herself, Solaris marched up to the door of the pub and pushed the door open.

The scene that spread before her was nothing short of bizarre. Here in the cosy, warm-lit Snuggly Duckling, dozens of large-sized men were almost literally playing tug of war with the body of one screaming Flynn Rider. The thief, by his horrified expression, did not enjoy being shoved back and forth by large hairy hands, especially with sorry state that his bandaged arm was in. But the thugs did not care, for they were much too absorbed in the quarrel to notice.

"Stop, you hooligans!" she yelled, dramatically flailing her hair over her head for effect. It went completely unnoticed however, for the ruckus was much too loud and her stature was far too small for her to be seen amongst the giant brutes. Solaris huffed, scooping her long blonde locks under her arms as she scanned the inside of the pub. Other than a drunken old fellow leaning unbalanced on his stool and the crowd wrangling over Rider, there was no one else for here. Her entrance hadn't even been acknowledged at all.

A dejected part of her told her to just leave, to give up, because Mother was right and she wasn't cut out for this kind of work. But another voice spoke to her, reminding her of what UV had told her - _'We're not in it for the thanks, we're in it because it's right.'_

She was not going to be intimidated by a social situation, even if that social situation involved a dozen or more ruthless-looking thugs.

She noticed a large branch of a tree growing out of a wall in the pub, and it happened be hovering right over the head of the bald thug who was just about to punch Rider in the face. The thief, of course, was squealing like a little girl.

Rapunzel clenched her teeth together as she swung a lock of light-constructed hair, latching it around the branch. She then pulled on the hair, then let go, smacking the branch against the thugs' head with a definitive _'thwack!'_

As she had hoped, the action made everyone in the squabble freeze, coarse language stilling for the moment. Miraculously, the thug whom she had hit – whom she saw now possessed a hook in place of one of his hands – was unharmed, and for that she was glad. However, she wasn't quite prepared for every head in the pub to swing towards her, bushy brows furrowed over hardened eyes.

"Um..." She resisted every bit of her that was screaming to flee the pub, hop on the bike and return to Korobe. Summoning all her bravado instead, Rapunzel – or Solaris, as she was trying to be - thrust her chin up, placing her fist on her hips while striking a dramatic pose. "Let the thief go!"

Almost all brows shot up, sceptical. Flynn Rider squinted at her from his position. His body had been lifted in the air while his every limb was being held down, making him look like he had been strapped to a stretcher made of pungent, muscular hooligans. From his expression, she could tell that he still recognise her. Yep, he was rolling his eyes. He knew who she was.

"Well,-" her false confidence faltered slightly when she noted that the lack of response "-aren't you going to let him go n-"

"Who're you?" A deep, irritated voice emerged from a large, bucket-shaped metal helmet. The one who wore it could have easily towered three feet over her, and he had Rider's left shoulder in his meaty grip, making him hiss with the way his injured arm was being tugged around.

"I am Solaris," she introduced herself, voice trembling despite herself. She tossed her hair back, trying to look bolder than she felt. "Hero of Korobe."

"Solaris? Hey, I know you," said another guy who in the huddle, grabbing onto Rider's right arm. He too was big in size, and his nose was especially prominent on his freckled face. "You're that girl from Korobe."

"That's what she said, dummy," another thug in the crowd snapped at him. For some reason, this guy, who was easily two times the size of the Big-Nose Guy, was wearing a viking helmet that she would have thought quite exquisitely crafted had the situation not been dire. His gaze on her darkened. "What's a pretty thing like you prancin' 'round these parts?"

"I am not a-" she began, then decided to focus on the topic instead, adjust her hands on her hip. "I'm here because I need _him_." She pointed at Flynn, making all eyes dart briefly to him. The man in the centre of attention frowned at her, perplexed.

"Well, you can't have him," the hook-handed thug growled roughly. "You see this?" He lifted up his hook for her to see – its bright, silvery blade and point gleaming in the dim-light. "It need a replacement, and the price on Rider's head -" he jerked a shoulder towards the trapped victim, who was wriggling helplessly "-is gonna buy me one."

"Hey!" The humongous guy with Viking hat shouted indignantly, pulling on Rider's hand insistently at the same time, making the leaner man wince. "I'm getting the bounty! I'm broke!"

"Well, I need new ride!" another voice protested from the crowd. "I should get the bounty!"

"I need a sofa! I've been sitting on the floor for the last eight years!"

"I need new sewing materials!"

"Well, I need an apartment! I'm homeless!"

"I need a new goat! The one I have keeps drooling and eating my towels!"

"I need a plane ticket to Slovakia so I can say goodbye to my dying hamster!"

"Those towels are made of Egyptian cotton, I tell you. Egyptian cotton!"

"WOULD YOU PLEASE LISTEN!"

The high-pitched half scream apparently did the trick in shutting everyone up, and Rapunzel was surprised that she could reach such volumes. She saw that evens Flynn's eyes had widened in astonishment, almost admiration, at the little stunt that she had pulled.

Now that she had their attention, Solaris started again, "Look,-" she stumbled on her words "-I'm trying to uncover a terrible event in that's about to happen in this city and I need _him_ -" she gestured at Flynn "-because he's the only lead that I have. I just want to be able to prove-" she didn't know when, but her teeth were gritted together as confessions spilled from her lips "-that I can be a real hero, like my mum. That is all I've ever dreamed of. Haven't you, any of you ever had a dream?" She waved her hand wildly at the thugs before her.

There was silence after her outburst. The thugs paused for a brief moment to look at one another, then their heads turned back to her. Those holding onto Flynn let him go, though someone grabbed him from the back and hung him by the collar on a wall hook, keeping him from scurrying off.

Hookhand, whom Solaris figured was the leader of this ragtag group, marched towards her, lifting up a medieval-style axe with his non-hook hand. Instinctively, she shuffled back, only to find that her back hitting a counter table, blocking off all escape path. As fear gripped her heart and she prepared herself to go into battle, Hookhand's expression suddenly became distant, and he said with a quiet regret, "I had a dream once."

"Hey – _hic_ -" the skinny, drunk old man that she had seen earlier "-I'd a dream – _hic_ – too!"

The axe from Hookhand's hand suddenly went flying, just missing the head of inebriated, elderly patron by a hair, while someone else in the crowd yelled, "No one cares about you, Shorty."

"Hey," Shorty appeared a little offended, though his hiccuping removed any trace of ferocity, "I take offence with– _I take_ _off_ – _off_ -" and then he tumbled off his stool. Rapunzel cringed, wondering if she should go forward to help.

But she didn't have an opportunity, for Hookhand then clapped his hand against his wrist of his hook, calling out to his fellow thugs, "Alright, support group's in session. Everyone, get your chairs."

The lot surrounding Flynn abruptly dispersed, leaving his squirming like a fish on his hook while they grabbed stools from around the pub. Solaris was flabbergasted as she watched these burly, brawny men with loud tattoos, giant muscles and poor dental hygiene arranged their stools out in a circle and sat down on them. Someone the Big Nose fellow – was actually nice enough to get her seat to and indicated with a wave of his hand that she was meant to sit down to. So warily, the masked heroine lowered herself on her stool, staring mystified at the peculiar sight unfolding before her.

"Alright, fellas," Hookhand hollered at his peers as he dropped himself down his own stool. "We can do a brief round. Answer the question – what is your dream? I'll start." The menacing bald thug suddenly had a wistful expression, his hand grabbing on his hook. "I've got a dream of becoming a famous concert pianist – touring around world, playing anything from Mozart to Beethoven to Strauss. If there's even time I'll give a hand – a hook, pard'n me – at jazz."

"Well, I've got a dream that I'll find my Juliet," the Big Nose fellow put in, manner a little moody. "I'm a lover, not a fighter. Give me my true love, O Lord-" he raised his hand dramatically in the air "-and I'll swear off crime forever."

From the corner of her eye, she spotted the incredulity scrawled all over Flynn's face and she couldn't help but delight in his discomfort.

"I want to be a florist."

"Interior design."

A thug in a mime costume (what?) made some weird gestures that Rapunzel didn't understand.

"Cupcakes," was the deep answer from the guy with the metal-bucket helmet.

"Sewing."

"Knitting."

"Puppet shows," was said by the puppet on the hand of a grim-looking thug.

"The original collector's edition set of 'My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic' toys," came from the humongous guy with the Viking hat with a sigh. "I'm really broke."

A loud snort came from outside the circle, causing everyone in it to turn and face the thief hanging off from the wall hook. Despite the murderous glares going his way, Flynn was suicidally scornful.

Hookhand scowled at him, then asked, "Well, what's about you?"

"Me?" The arrogant young man thumbed himself, brow shooting up.

"Yeah," Big Nose said, shifting his stool to face him. "What's your dream?"

Flynn let out a short laugh. "Sorry, boys, I don't do heart-to-heart, no matter how adorable I think all of you are."

Solaris barely had time to register how weapons appeared in the hands of the various thugs – from swords to hatchet to guns to rifles – nor how they all came to be pointing at Flynn Rider.

"On the other hand," the young man said slowly, eyeing the blade that was poking his arm bandage, "I suddenly feel this need to disclose my innermost thoughts."

"So spill it, Rider," the Viking-hat thug demanded impatiently, tapping his foot. "What is your dream?"

Flynn went quiet for a moment, then he said, sounding almost vulnerable, "Well, I've got dream that one day-"

Solaris found herself leaning forward eagerly, curious to hear what he had to say.

"-I'll be surrounded by piles of money."

The response was instantaneous.

"Booo!"

"Gross!"

"That's not a dream!"

Someone even threw a knife his way, just narrowly missing Flynn's head.

This earned an annoyed look from him. "Hey! My dream's more legit than all of yours put together."

"Your dream stinks, Rider," Hookhand shot back unashamedly, before spinning towards her. "What about you, Missy?"

"My dream?" The thugs in the support circle nodded, awaiting her answer. She hooked a long strand behind her ear, letting out a sigh. "Well, I just want to prove that I can be a real hero. That's all that there is to it." She shrugged, but the puzzled looks on the thugs' face prompted her to elaborate. "I mean, look, when people see me, they either think I'm stupid or useless, or both. I want to prove that I'm not. I guess I just want-" she rubbed her elbow self-consciously "-a bit of respect? I guess. And to know that I'm not worthless and weak, like Mother implies that I am."

"Aww, Miss." The Big Nose fellow made a sniff, wiping a tear from his eye. "You're not worthless. Don't you ever tell yourself that."

A watery smile formed on her lips. "Thank you."

"Give me a break," an exasperated voice from the back groaned out.

"Shut up, Rider! No one cares about you," Hookhand hollered at the figure still dangling off from the wall hook. He then turned to the girl, coarse features surprisingly kind. "Well, Missy, how can we help you with your dream?"

Rapunzel blinked behind her mask. "You'll help me?"

"Well, we'll certainly," one of the thugs, who was knitting a sweater said. "That's what the Duckling Dreamers support group is for. We help each other reach our dreams."

"You guys even have a name for yourselves?" Flynn was aghast, but no one bothered with him.

"Well." She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought of how to phrase her request. "The thing is that I'm trying to uncover a plot by an evil mastermind, and he-" she jerked her head towards Flynn "-is the last person who's been in contact with him. I need his help in solving the case."

"What mastermind?" The guy with the metal-bucket helmet said. For some reason, he was now holding a tray of cupcakes and passing it around the circle.

She sucked in a breath before saying, "13."

A collective gasp echoed throughout the pub.

"Now, hang on a moment," Flynn interrupted once again from his spot. He had his good arm bent behind him, trying to push himself off the hook that held him captive. "I'm super flattered that you think I've got anything to do with 13, but I'm going to say this once and for all – I have nothing to do with that guy."

The blonde cocked her head towards him. "You don't remember what happened, do you?"

He sent a quizzical look her way.

Since the others in the pub did not understand what she was talking about, she recounted her fight with Flynn the night before, glossing over the part about the alien ex-superhero or the NSA. She described to them how mid-fight Flynn had turned into 13. All eyes immediately flitted to the thief at that point, leading him to insist again, "I'm not 13! For goodness' sake!"

"But you do remember fighting me?" Solaris asked.

"Yes, I do, and I remember that I won that fight," Flynn answered smugly.

The girl's brows narrowed together behind her mask. "How?"

"I-well-I." He hesitated, hand going to scratch his head instead. "Well-"

"You threw me off a building."

He appeared genuinely shocked. "I did?"

"He did?" echoed another in the group.

"Oh, Rider, how could you?" Big Nose gasped with a disappointed expression.

"That's it!" The Viking-hat thug who said that he wanted to get My Little Pony toys got to his feet, marching towards Flynn. His way was blocked by two other thugs, who firmly held his arms back "Let me pass! I'm gon'na give that despicable cretin his just desserts."

"Oh, sit down, Vladimir," Hookhand commanded, before scrutinizing Rider for the moment. He must have felt that the thief was being honest, for he then told the girl, "Well, Missy, it seems that 13's been up to his tricks again."

"Tricks?" The blonde repeated. "What tricks?"

"They say that 13 has ways of putting people in a trance," a grave voice put in firmly. "And while they are in that state, he makes them do unspeakable things." The one who spoke was a tough-looking fellow with a needle and thread in his hand. He was in the process of suturing a laceration on the shoulder of the thug sitting by his side, a sight that actually made Solaris feel a little queasy. "He's got dark powers, that one. Powers from friends on the other side."

"Other side?"

"Unnatural powers," intoned another in the group. "Some say that he's a soulless demon, or that he sold his soul to one. We can never tell for sure, for the few that has ever seen his true nature never lived to tell the tale."

"Other stories say that he's a restless ghoul, cursed by the gods for his own crimes," added the Bucket-helmet guy, who was straightening out his apron after having finished giving out his cupcakes. Solaris spotted that he had a name-tag on his apron reading 'Attila'. She would have thought it appropriate for his menacing demeanour, but after chewing on one of cupcake passed to her, she wondered why his name was not something fluffier, like Johnny or Joe. "He has to take the souls of others to fill the void of losing his."

"This is completely nonsense," Flynn muttered, not that anyone cared. "Weird superstitious nonsense."

"He always marks his targets." This was whispered by the small, old drunken guy they called Shorty, who was sober enough now to climb onto a stool of his own. "He marks them with blood, they say – blood and fire – and when his words turn _black_ ,-" the skinny, skimpily-dressed old fellow's voice dropped, eyes widening dramatically "- _his judgement comes to_ _pass_."

"His writing turns…black?" Her stomach tightened as a memory struck her. She got up from her stool, earning astonished looks from around the circle. "I'll be right back. I promise."

She sped out of the Snuggly Duckling, leaping over the twisted steps and running back towards where Maximus was. Pascal was concerned to see her in such a fluster, but she had no time to answer him, going for her satchel instead.

When UV had given it back to her, she had left all the Yakuza propaganda magazine inside, for which Rapunzel was grateful for, though it was heavy. She pulled out grabbed the entire stack then spun on her head, going straight back to the Pub. Bursting through the door and leaping over her own stool, she fell to her knees in the middle of circle, the magazines spilling out of her hands as she did. The thugs got up from the seats, each leaning forward over the other to see what she was doing. Even Flynn was craning his neck to get a peep.

The girl flipped open the pages to find the white soot-marked pages, arranging them in order as she had remembered. She placed the pages of the magazine side by side, forming the sentence again – _'For The Great Stallion shall be u(Blank)ne by (Blank)wn Hor(Blank)oe.'_ The only difference from before was that instead of words being blood-red, they had almost all turned black, save the letter's 'oe' at the end.

She asked frantically, "Does anyone happen to have issue #442, #443 and #444?"

"I do!" The volunteer was Big Nose, who produced the magazine from an unseen pocket of his coat. When he received odd looks from his peers, he defended, "It's great bathroom reading material."

Solaris hurriedly flipped open the two magazines, finding the spread sheet of the scrawled words. Now the sentence spelled out, _'For The Great Stallion shall be undone by his own Hor(Blank)oe.'_ It was then she realised - "Wait, where's issue #444?"

"#444 is the newest one. It hasn't been released to the public." The one who spoke this time was none other the thief still hanging from the coat hook. "It's a special anniversary edition to celebrate the successes of the Nightmare Yakuza over the last twenty years. They're unveiling it at that fancy gala thing tonight." He got stares from the thugs. "What? Can't I help too?"

Some cogs started turning in Solaris' mind. "What gala?"

"Oh, it's just a gathering of the richest, most powerful members of the Nightmare Yakuza." Flynn made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. "Minions like me only get to go if we're serving drinks, or patrolling the perimeter."

Pausing a moment to digest this new information, Solaris glanced down at the magazines, and the taunting warning it implied.

 _'For the Great Stallion shall be undone by his own Hor(blank)oe.'_

"Horrible Oboe." This unexpected drawl came from Shorty. When she turned his way, the old fellow shot her a toothy, crooked smile. "Bet'cha that's what the last blank says. Horrible Ob – _hic_!"

Solaris didn't stop for the moment to contemplate whether 'Horrible Oboe' was what finished the sentence. Instead, she climbed to her feet, marching towards the thief. The thugs that had crowded around her parted so that she could pass, which she thanked them for with a smile. When she stopped right in front of Flynn Rider, however, any friendliness had melted off her face.

With a hand on her hip, Solaris demanded, "Where is this … _gala_?"

* * *

The location of 13's residence was actually a spot that was no stranger to us. Indeed, Hiccup Haddock a.k.a. Knight and Merida Dunbroch a.k.a The Wisp had never really known how close they had been discovering his hideout. Even the owner of the facility, who had stayed there a solid forty years, had never discovered the other beings inhabiting it.

So perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise that when 13 pushed the door open Litwak's Arcade, no one noticed him at all. The kids behind the machine continued to fervently slam their fists against the buttons, and kids-at heart yanked joysticks so hard that it was a wonder that they hadn't snapped off yet.

"Hello there!" old Litwick himself called to him from the counter. "Take a look around and if you need any spare change, let me know."

"Thank you, sir," 13 answered, nodding politely. No matter how many times he came into here, Litwak never recognised him. Perhaps part of the reason why was that each time he returned, he was wearing a different face. It was a tricky business, really, deciding between wearing the face of his host or wearing that of his own. There were advantages to both, but wearing his host's mask was usually less risky.

13 then strolled passed the arcades stalls, hiding himself from view of arcade owner. If anyone say him entering the office which was labelled _'Staff Only'_ , they would have just assumed him to be a staff. In the messy office, he then went straight towards the door that was labelled, _'Knocking Before Entering'_.

He knocked, but instead of entering, he waited.

After a minute with no change, he then knocked again, this time tapping his foot a little impatiently.

This time, the door swung open towards him, creaking as it did. He pulled it open and was unsurprised to find that there was no one there to greet him. He stepped into the darkness beyond the doorway, making sure that he closed the door firmly behind him as he did. He checked on the charms that he had hung around the door frame before moving down the dim-lit corridor.

There were wires and cords spilled onto the granite floor, some bundled and others not, but he stepped over them without needing to check his steps, for he had stepped over them so many times by now and could do it blindfolded. The occasional working light flickered above him and he made a note to fix it, as he always did. He always ended up forgetting about it though.

"Hey, V," he called out into the darkness. "I'm home."

"Whatever," was the lacklustre response. "Tell me something I don't know."

13 snorted, but he was not surprised.

She was curled up in front of a computer screen, the wireless keyboard squeezed between her lap and her small body as she waved her mouse in the air. The screen itself was covered by a multitude of numbers that he couldn't understand, which was funny, because he was the one with the numerical name.

"Did you bring any food?" Vanellope asked, careless swishing her mouse right and left. He knew that it didn't actually have any batteries in it, or that waving the device around like that by right shouldn't let it work, but she seemed pretty satisfied with the way the computer was responding, so he supposed that all was well.

"Sorry, no," he answered, dropping the case on the table at the other end of the room, joining the clutter. After staying here so long, quite a treasury of tools had been collected, ranging from simple ones like screw-drivers to the latest edition of a 3D-printer that he had stolen while in the body of one of his hosts. That host had been arrested for the crime, of course, but hey, the guy was a drug-pusher. All's fair in love and war, and in for 13, they were always at war.

She swerved about on her chair to face him, her brows drawn down in a pout. If she wasn't stuck in the body of a ten-year old, she would have looked menacing. Since she was stuck in the body of a ten-year old, however, she just looked cute. He told her so, and she answered him with a string of expletives, making him smile. Well, just slightly.

13 then turned his attention to the case, undoing the bolts outside by keying in the three codes. When the case opened with a hiss, he pulled the lid up, removing the pistol and the canister containing the frozen bullets. The pistol he laid on the table, wiping of the humidity with a cloth he had hanging off a wall-hook. The canister he took to the refrigerator that they kept in the corner of their dilapidated hideout. Well, to be perfectly honest, they actually had ten refrigerators, all lined up one after another, and all of them were empty save the freezer compartment. That compartment was the primary reason why they stole all those refrigerators in the first place, anyway. They were taking up a lot of space, though, and in the back of his mind, 13 supposed that he should probably take them apart and fit together a nice big freezer, instead of having so many little ones. More environmentally friendly, too. But every time he opened the freezer compartment of any of the fridges, he would forget this mental note, for his mind instead would be filled with other thoughts.

Dark, horrifying, all-consuming thoughts.

Those were the thoughts that invaded him now as he opened the freezer door again and his body – or rather, his host's body – shivered involuntarily. The vigilante grimaced as he set the canister in the fridge, then closed the door on it. He would return for the bullets later.

As he headed back to his table to polish up the gun, he heard Vanellope chirp, "FYI, the peacock guy called."

13 straightened himself up. "He did?"

"Yeah, he wants to talk to you," the girl drawled boredly, grabbing a post-it note that was stuck on the side of her keyboard. "Actually, I got a list of people who want to talk to you." She held the small piece of paper to him expectantly.

The vigilante snatched the paper for her and sighed as he read the names. Then he handed it back to her. "Well, if all goes smoothly tonight, all of these people won't need to see me anymore."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

"Put Shen on the line for me," he told her, settling down on one of the computers next to her. Immediately, it brightened to life. "I've got to give that crook a piece of my mind."

"Video or vocal?" Vanellope asked, waving her mouse in the air the way a fairy would their wand. Again, he didn't know how she did it, but it made the screen in front of him move.

"Vocal," 13 said, leaning back into his chair, rolling his shoulders – or rather, his host's shoulders – back. "I don't really feel like putting on the mask right now."

"On it, boss." The girl leaned herself back slightly to type a bunch of letter in keyboard on her lap. The vigilante watched as the screen in front of him flickered for a moment, before a dial tone was heard.

That ended with a 'click' when the phone was answered with - _"If this about selling my house, I want to let you know that I love my house, okay? I know it's not much, but it's still home and if you're going-"_

"Hey, genius," Vanellope snapped into the microphone, "I'm not a telemarketer."

The voice emerging from the soundbox sounded confused. _"What?"_

13 dragged a hand on his forehead and muttered an inaudible curse.

"It's the Glitch, dumbass." The girl was as merciless in mocking as she was in computer games – and trust me, you did not want to play against her. "I've got 13 waiting to go on the line, so get off your butt and get your boss."

 _"Oh."_ A scrapping sound as the chair on the other line was shoved back, followed by the sound of scrambling hands. _"Hold on a second."_

The phone went briefly into 'on hold mode', with a catchy piece of bubble-gum pop playing as they waited. Vanellope swung herself back and forth on her chair, humming along to the music while 13 scowled and glanced at his watch.

Finally, the waiting music was cut short, and a sharp voice pierced through, _"What?"_

"Shen, my good fellow," 13 spoke calmly in the microphone that Vanellope had handed to him, "I heard about your little assassination attempt this morning. Congratulations."

"It wasn't successful." The sound of the ganglord's grating teeth was evident even across the line. "She survived and I've lost one of my best assassins."

"It wasn't successful, and hence I congratulate you," the vigilante continued impassively on, sounding cordial even. "Because your stupidity could have ruined the careful preparation that we've done over the last three months."

A low growl and a crackle was heard as Shen'a grip on the phone. _"Watch your words with me, vigilante. Throughout the time of our partnership, you haven't pulled your weight. I sometimes wonder why_ _you're_ _even here."_

"I beg to differ." 13 himself tightened his hold on his microphone, stiffening up. "You had acquired the materials, yes, and Krei had provided the space and resources, but I was the one who constructed the weapon. _My_ expertise, _my_ talent – that's made this possible." His voice dropped several decibels, but the ferocity and pride shone through. "Don't you forget it."

 _"I suppose what you say is true."_ The admission was reluctant, before melting into something more … sinister. _"I suppose then once I've outlived my usefulness, when the Nightmare King is eliminated, you would then turn your attention on the Triad."_

The vigilante sighed, scratching his forehead. "I gave you my word. I will leave you and your gangsters be."

 _"Your word is meaningless to me. I am not a fool, 13,"_ Shen retorted sneeringly. _" I know that you've struck deals with other criminals before, only to turn against them once you no longer_ _need_ _them. You enjoy manipulating those you deem as wicked against each other, so that they can destroy each other without you shedding a sweat."_

Without shedding a sweat? A tirade of curses rested on the vilgante's tongue. There had never been a time that any of his 'schemes' were so easy that he wouldn't shed a sweat! He had shed sweat, tears and blood just to ensure that wrong-doers met their just desserts and let their victims finally rest in peace. Yet, there was a measure of truth in Shen's words and 13 had to ponder a moment before answering. Any lie that he said now would not be believed by the Chinese ganglord – he was much too smart.

 _"I am not willing to live with this kind of risk, vigilante,"_ the Lord of the White Peacock Triad remarked in the silence. _"I do not intend to end my life as gracelessly as Alistair Krei did."_

There was an insinuation at the end of the sentence, one that 13 could not miss. "You think I killed Krei? You think I was the one behind the bomb in San Fransokyo?"

 _"You're not the only with resources. I know for a fact that you were there."_ The taunting note could not be missed.

13 sucked in a breath, his free hand clenching itself as he hissed, "I did not kill Krei."

 _"No, but you didn't save him either, did you?"_

Silence reigned in the dimly-lit, window-lessly claustrophobic long house when 13 let go of the microphone, letting it fall land on the table with a 'clack'. It was a silence overwhelming with guilt, a little self-hate, yet too held a measure of indignance, a fury that felt itself justified. It was a silence that confirmed the ganglord's suspicions.

Finally, 13, hand trembling, lifted mouthpiece to his lips and asked, cautious, "What do you want from me?"

 _"Your name."_

A bark of laughter emerged from his throat. "No."

 _"Well, I need some kind of binding agreement,"_ said Shen, irritated.

"Well, I have no idea what you're asking for," was 13's answer.

 _"If you won't give me your name, then write me a vow. A vow in red."_ There was smug undertone in the ganglord's request, as if he was proud of thinking up the idea. _"I know that what you write in red, you are bound to bring to completion. That way I know you will not go back on your word."_

The vigilante frowned, not that Shen could see. "That's not really-"

 _"That's the only price I'll accept. Take it or leave it."_

13 sighed. "Fine. Get a blank piece of paper, or something that I can write on. Just to lay it down on your table."

He heard shuffling on the other side, which no doubt meant that Shen was doing as he had asked. While waiting, he signaled to Vanellope to bring him some paper, which she did. From his host's pocket, 13 removed the calligraphy case, setting it on the table. He undid the latch, allowing the horse-hair brush and the ink bottle to tumble out. The ink bottle he set upright on the table, undoing the cap. At its brim, the bright red liquid gleamed, a bit of it running down the side of the bottle where the crumpled label still read _'Don't write in red!'_

13 dipped his brush into the bottle, asking through the microphone, "So, what will you have me write?"

Shen told him, and the vigilante wrote as he was told. 13 then took the lighter that Vanellope gave him and set the paper on fire. The paper however was not consumed and the flames merely danced over it, playing with fragile sheet like a child with a puppy. As the fire flickered on the table before him, 13's gaze briefly flitted to the computer screen in front of him, at the reflection of himself that the light of the flames produced. The reflection was distorted, of course, but the face of his host melted to reveal his own, with his ugly scars illuminated in their full glory.

He dropped his gaze back instantly.

Eventually, the fire died off, leaving the sheet covered with soot marks and crimson words of his vow. 13 then spoke into the microphone, "You should find what I had written to be inscribed on the paper you placed on your table."

 _"It caught fire_." The ganglord was trying to sound annoyed, but he was clearly flabbergasted by what he had just witnessed. _"You almost burned my hand!"_

"Yes, that happens," was 13's dismissive response. "Now, I've given you what you wanted. I expect that you'll fulfill your part."

 _"Very well."_ Pride and haughtiness permeated every syllable that passed the White Peacock's lips. No doubt, he was gleefully celebrating his successful bargain. _"Now that my interests have been secured, you'll find that my men and I are fully cooperative."_

"Good. I'll give you the signal when I need you," 13 instructed. "Otherwise, lay low for now. Even if I had written a vow for you, any foolishness you do can change the luck and cause a domino effect, ruining all our plans."

 _"If you say so,"_ Shen acknowledged, still smug. _"Fair well, vigilante. It's a pleasure to do business with you."_

The call ended there, with Vanellope encrypting up any remaining traces of the call so that it couldn't be traced back to them. 13 set the microphone back on the table, shaking his head. "That arrogant, despicable scumbag." A broad grin appeared on the vigilante's face. "He has doomed himself, and I didn't even need to do anything about it."

"Hmm?" Vanellope was still typing stuff on her keyboard.

"He thought he knew how my abilities worked. He thought that he outsmarted me. Little does he know that what I write doesn't matter." It was 13's turn to have a smug tone. "It's just a matter of who I write it for. And he asked me to write it for him! Ha!" He let out a hearty chuckle. "He asked me to sign his own death warrant."

For the power lay not the brush or the words, but the ink. And the ink he wrote with was not really ink at all. For it was created when fallen victims of violent crime became worn, trapped spirits that wept tears of blood; tears that he had collected when they visited him and told him their tragic stories. Tears that he then used to extract vengeance and enact justice, as he was called to do.

"Yeah, whatever." The girl just stretched her arms forward and yawned.

13 glanced over to her, curled up in her chair, listlessly making gestures at the screen and occasionally slapping something on her keyboard. He halted his laughter, sobering up as he said, "Hey, V?"

"Yeah?" Vanellope didn't sound very interested.

"Look." He sat himself straight up in his chair as he kept the calligraphy brush and the bottle back in their box, then slipped the box into his host's pocket. "After we take down the two big guns, King Candy's next on the list. I promise."

Her green eyes flitted briefly to him before going back to her screen. Her voice was full of bitterness. "He'd better be." She then frowned, as if another thought had just occurred to her. "What time's that party thing again?"

13 glanced down at his watch. "Crap."

He hurried over to the table to retrieve the gun, which was still a little wet but usable. He then made a beeline for the refrigerator to get the canister from the freezer. He let out a breath and willed his armour to surround his flesh. As the metal plates manifested into the air and stuck themselves to him, he strapped both gun and the canister containing the frozen ammo to his belt, all ready to use.

As he was about to lift the metal mask over his face, however, he hesitated. Doubt pooled itself in his belly, as it often did right before he attempted a major kill. He knew that what he did was wrong, but most of the time, he could convince himself that he was doing wrong for the right reasons. That said, there was a part of him – a part of the old him – who hated all this.

"I have your back, T. Go do your thing," Vanellope told him as she sat herself proper down on her chair, drawing it up to her computer. All the computers around her suddenly lit up, ready to be bent to her will. "Good luck."

He scoffed at that as he fitted his mask over his face. "You mean, _bad_ luck, right?"

* * *

"Oh, my poor hair." The young man ran his fingers through dyed locks, sighing regretfully at the dark strands. "My poor, poor hair."

"It's not that bad, is it?" The boy sitting next to him looked rather concerned. He peered at Jack through the mirror. "We just need to colour your eye-brows and you'll look fine."

He couldn't go to the party with brown hair. If Tooth's suspicions were right and his female cryokinetic was there, it was best if she couldn't recognise him, just in case she decided to run off. He had only forty-eight hours – no, forty-four now – to get this right, or the NSA would drag him off to Canada. Or prison.

Still, he didn't like black hair. Against his pale complexion, he looked like a corpse.

"After this, we're going to buy white dye," Jack told his reflection quite seriously. "I promise. Everything-" he even sounded a bit emotional "-everything will be back to normal someday, I promise."

"Stop staring at yourself, Jack," Tooth's voice drifted in as she entered the bedroom. She was all ready – her emerald sari wrapped around her waist and over her shoulder, with a golden pin shaped like a bird to hold it up. A glittering gold necklace adorned her slender neck and golden bangles shook around her arms as she approached the vanity, shuffling through the drawers. "The taxi would be here within minutes, so let's get your brows and lashes done."

The young man let out a groan as he slumped himself back down on the bed, resting his head in knuckles. "Fine."

He was back in the fancy suit again, because it was a formal dinner and nothing screamed _'Look at me!'_ more than a blue hoodie and a lack of shoes. The collar was still uncomfortable and he tugged against it so much that Jamie, who was goodness knows how much younger than him, told him off. Of course, Jamie, being a child, was going to the party in a comfortable, loose-fitting _yukata_ , so Jack thought that it was frightfully unfair.

The doorbell of the apartment rang at that moment. "That must be Mrs. Denvers," Tooth commented as she pulled out a box of make-up. "She's here to babysit Sophie. Jamie, can you make sure that she gets settled?"

"Okay," the boy said, leaping off from his chair and sprinting out of the bedroom. Tooth shut the door behind him, then spun around to appraise the young man sulking on the corner of her bed.

Noting the amused expression forming on her lips, Jack asked, slightly peeved, "What?"

"Black hair and white brows," she said, grinning unashamedly. "It does look terrible."

He just rubbed his palm against his eye. "Let's just get this over with."

It took less two minutes to colour both of his brows, since they were already white and the eyeshadow that she used was quite dark. She also painted his eyelashes, just in case any keen eyes honed down on them. Drawing herself back, she spent a few seconds assessing her work on him. Once she held him still and used her pinky finger to smudge the powder on his brows a little. He wasn't sure how exactly it happened, but Jack realised that he was staring directly into her eyes, and the violet was staring back.

"Thia?" He rarely called her that, but somehow, it still felt right at the moment.

"Yes?" Her voice was small, but he could hear it clear enough. Though there was chatter coming from outside, the room was almost entirely quiet, as if not just Tooth but the entire world was waiting to hear him speak.

"Thank you." He shifted uneasily on the bed. "For helping me in this. For taking me in at the risk of exposing yourself. For trying to protect me from the NSA, from Pitch. Even though I've-" he sighed, running a hand through his blackened strands "-I've really been a lousy friend, haven't I?"

Tooth gasped at his words, sitting herself down next to him immediately. "Jack-"

"No, no, please don't defend me," he cut her off. His shoulders were hunched forward, worn with regret. He was usually not very good with this whole sharing-his-innermost-thoughts things, but for some reason, he felt a huge inclination to speak his mind now. "I mean, I could have done better, tried to fit in with system, mind my own business, then the NSA wouldn't have chased me out of Ameripan ten years ago."

Jack sighed, taking her hands in his. He could feel callouses and scars along them – whether from ancient battles or from her current work, he didn't know – but they were still the same hands that reached out to him after he had first awoken on this planet. "You were the first real friend I've ever had on this planet. You've put up with so much of my nonsense, like the language barrier, and the culture shock, and my 'rebellious' phase-" that earned a giggle from her "-and I've only ever made trouble for you."

"Jack." She was chuckling, though her head still shook disapprovingly. "That's not true."

"It is true," he contradicted ruefully. "I mean, you were always there for me when I needed you, and I -" he paused for a second as his gaze flitted to the photo-frames sitting on her drawer, his gaze zoning down to the one of her daughter and the heartache that it implied "-I wasn't there when you needed me."

"Jack." She freed her hands from his to cup his face, fingers stroking his cheeks soothingly. It was a gesture that he had missed from their younger days, when Tooth would comfort him through his frustration with his lack of memories, or at times when he was just infuriated with humans. Remembering that made him feel even more guilty. How many times had she carried his emotional burdens, and how many times had he missed out on carrying hers? "Can you promise me something?"

"Anything." His answer was so prompt and decisive that it surprised himself.

There was a small smile on her face, one that was affectionate but also tainted with a sadness that he didn't understand. "Never think that you owe me anything."

"But-" he was perplexed "-I do-"

"No, you don't." Her manner, thought gentle, was firm. "You don't owe me anything. Jack-" she tilted his chin up so that he would face her "- _you_ are one of the best things that ever happened in my life."

Astonishment was too tiny a word to describe how he felt at that moment. One of the best things? In her life? "Really?"

"Really, silly," she chortled, shaking her head at him again as she brushed back his hair. "You're my best friend too, you know."

"Well, that's nice to know that it's mutual," he quipped dryly, making her smile widen.

She slapped a hand playfully against his chest. "C'mon, Jack. We should get going."

"Alright." He got off the bed and tugged against his collar again, prompting her to bat his hand away. The boy complained, "But Tooth, it itches."

"But Jack, you'll mess it up," she mimicked his manner as she herself got to her feet, hands going to straighten his bowtie. "There, you look nice."

"Sure, but I feel horrible," Jack mourned, shoving his hands in the pockets of his dress coat.

"Cheer up. At least you're not showing off your midriff." She glanced down herself, critiquing her own appearance. "Urgh. I've definitely got to stick to a diet plan."

"What for?" He grabbed her hand, encasing it his own. "You look beautiful."

"See?" She beamed at him. "That's why you're one of the best things that ever happened to me."

Jack chuckled, rising a brow. "'One of', hey? What am I competing with?"

"Hmm." Tooth made a show of pondering the question. "Well, I do have a daughter."

"Touché. Can't fight a mother's love."

As she drew open the bedroom door, Tooth halted, expression turning abruptly distant. He squeezed her palm. "Tooth?"

Without warning, she flung her arms around him, wrapping him in an embrace so tight that he couldn't breathe. Eventually, he did return the hug, though he felt a little awkward about the whole thing. Finally, she did let him go and drew back, adjusting the sari scarf over her shoulder and straightening her pin. There was were a million thoughts flying through her mind, he could tell, but unlike her, he couldn't read minds.

"Just in case, you know," was all she told him, giving him a smile that disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. Tooth then hurried down to the living room to meet the babysitter. Jack picked up the fake glasses that he had in his pocket and slipped them over his ears, unable to help deliberating over the peculiarity of her behaviour.

He couldn't work out anything, though, so he just shrugged and murmured to himself, "Oh, well. Let's go party then."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **I think who 13 is should be pretty obvious by now. Like, seriously - with all the stuff that I'm throwing your way. No? If nothing else, well, then I hope this chapter helps to explain how he operates.**

 **Of course, the pub thugs from Tangled make their appearance in Burgeshima's Germantown. I was bound to throw them in at some point.**

 **Up Next: The Gala! As you can tell, this was one of the big climaxes of this story. I'm approximating it to span across Four chapters. Be prepared for some major action, emotional drama and mind-blowing (I hope) reveals.**

 **Man. I have a lot of stuff to write.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Greetings, lasses and laddies! Hope that you have merry time reading this.**

 **Guest Mailbox:**

 **Princess Catgirl: Hello there! Thank you for your lovely reviews. Glad that you've enjoyed this story enough to make it this far in the story. The Guardian Games is sadly still sitting in the slow cooker of my mind and though I am working on a new chapter, progress is slow. And Jack has the same 'birthday' as you? Neat stuff. No, I am not psychic, though that would be useful.**

 **Oh, yes, shameless advertisement time. If you like modern day vampires but hate Twilight, then you can check out my new ROTG/Frozen story** _ **'The Immortal Haemovore's Cookbook'**_ **. Yeah, I should really get my priorities straight, but plot bunnies are ferociously persistent creatures. I will nonetheless try to update this More Than A Bird and The Wrath of Five before touching that story anymore.**

 **Well, bye bye.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Critique.**


	28. Chpt 27: Unilateral Knowledge

Chapter 27: Unilateral Knowledge - The Gala Part 1

* * *

It was the 23rd of April, 1983, in the worst storm the country had ever seen.

"How you feelin', sheila?"

She lifted her head to the older Super sitting across from her. Bunny had grim lines drawn on his forehead and his fists were clenched around his two boomerangs. But his tone was still measured, as if he were trying to comfort her.

Tooth thought of lying just to keep face, but then – what's the point? She was entering a situation where she could very well lose her life. All of them were, actually. There was no choice. In part, they were responsible for what was happening. If they didn't fix this, no one else could.

So she said, "I'm terrified."

The brawny, bold hero glanced her way, his usual stiff manner seeming to soften and for a second, he seemed incredibly vulnerable. "Me, too."

They felt the aircraft dip down, jerking them against their seatbelts at the same time and making them cry out. Just as quickly as it started, it stopped and they were back to smooth flying.

"Sorry!" was the yell from the front. "Turbulence here is quite unpredictable."

Bunny groaned while shooting a glare towards their flight captain. "You drive like a maniac, you know. Is that how they do things in Russia?"

"I don't see you offering to drive," North growled, turning back briefly to scowl at Bunny. Sandy, who was co-piloting _The Sleigh_ , just rolled his eyes as he continued flicking the switches on his own side, navigating them through the dastardly weather.

After a while, the heat of the argument blew off, like the winds that were beating around them. The cold set in and tension grew in the air instead. Her fist engulfed the head of her arm rest, strained so much that her knuckled paled. The older Super that sat by her side noted this, and he then told her, "I'm sorry that it has to be you."

She glanced towards him questioningly.

"You're the youngest of us," Bunny elaborated, tattooed hand scratching the back of his head. "You shouldn't be put danger like this. If any of us could take your place, we would. Just to let you know."

"I know what I signed up for," she insisted, more out of pride than sparing his feelings.

"No, sheila, you don't," was his blunt contradiction, but it was not meant in spite. Concern and worry contorted his mien, setting a growing uneasiness in her own stomach. "I can guarantee that whatever happens here tonight, it will change your life forever."

She swallowed, then asked, "For better or worse?"

He hesitated, and she could tell that he didn't want to give her an answer.

The aircraft was slowing down now, which prompted Bunny to question their pilots, "What's going on? Are we being held back?"

"Eh? No." North shook his head, taking off his headset. "We are here." His eyes turned to his young mentee and his gaze softened. He could see the fear in her, for he then said, "He respects you, Tooth. Don't forget that. If there's anyone he'd listen to, it'd be you. There is a connection between you two that time itself cannot severe."

She knew that he meant well, but the 'he' that North was talking about no longer existed. He had changed, and she no longer knew if her words carried any weight with him. She wasn't going out to talk to an old friend – she was talking to a stranger. A dangerous, maniacal, grieving stranger.

Nonetheless, Tooth unbuckled her seat belt and set her helmet back on her head. She made a sharp inhale as she thought of her wings. Instantly, the glittering, other-worldly constructs of her mind manifested themselves, joining to her back. She flapped them a few times to check.

Bunny nodded firmly at her. "Good luck, sheila."

Sandy made a sign at her to wish the same thing.

North pressed the button on the control panel to open up the exit hatch of the craft, exposing them all to the furious weather pouring outside. Tooth braced herself as she approached towards the hatch, chill setting into her bones more quickly than she liked. She then shot a glance at the rest of her fellow Guardians, just in case they were the last people she would ever see.

And then she jumped.

* * *

"This is a size too big."

"Stop being so fussy," she said, shoving him into one of the dressing cubicles. "Besides, aren't you the one with broken arm? A bigger robe would be more of a help than a burden.

"Well, it's not painting a very flattering picture of my torso." She could almost hear him scowling at her, but she turned on her heel and entered another dressing cubicle, rolling her eyes. How on Earth could one man be so vain?

In all her life, Rapunzel hadn't met many men. Don't get her wrong. As Solaris, she had put many criminals behind bars, and somehow a majority of those fellow were men, but she had never really had to talk with a man without her mask. Even with Jack Frost, she had largely been costumed. She had interacted with him in her civilian identity, true, but he hadn't really known who she was and up to now. Flynn Rider knew both sides of the coin and he wasn't afraid to make clear how unimpressed he was with both.

He wasn't here at his free will. Why would he be? She had _only_ saved his life from a pub full of thugs that were going to hand him over to Nightmare Yakuza. This was after he had stolen her bike and threatened to kill her, so out of clearly his grateful and repentant heart, he grudgingly followed her instructions. The only reason why he was here was because the thugs at the pubs – who were really sweethearts under their gruff exterior – had threatened to tip him off to the Yakuza if he didn't, and worse.

"Trust me, Rider." Hookhand had brandished his shiny hook at the gangster's angular chin. "You skip out on her, you double-cross her, or you so much as hurt a hair on her pretty head, and _we_ hear about it, you'd wish that just your nose that got smashed." The other thugs had nodded firmly at the declaration.

Rough fellows in serious need of a bath, but it was nice to have some allies in a town that seemed so against her.

As it happened, Atilla, the cup-cake baking thug who wore a metal helmet, happened to have a roommate who worked at a pizza delivery service that was next to a laundrette that was run by a churlish brother and sister team that happened to have a neighbour who had a niece who worked in the Hotel Kurokuro - the same five-star hotel Hotel Kurokuro that was the venue of the annual gala held by the Nightmare Yakuza. So after making a few phone calls, Atilla had managed to get the two positions as one-night-only servers at the Hotel for the gala. After all, it was a large-scale event in need of more hands and feet. Rapunzel and her surly companion had hardly needed to introduce themselves, under false names, before they were thrust their uniforms and told to get ready.

Infiltrate the Hotel Kurokuro? Check.

Shut whinny companion up? Still working on it.

Rapunzel had changed easily into her waitress uniform. It was black _yukata_ that draped very comfortably over her costume, covering it completely. Her mask she kept in her pocket, so that she could slap it on whenever required. Just in case she met anyone who recognised her, though, she also brought a pair of fake glasses which she slipped over nose right now. Her brunette locks were transformed into gold with a single thought and she allowed the strands to lengthen till they brushed against her shoulders. She then looped them up in a bun twisted them and pinning them down with a metal hair ornament, the way she had seen the other waitresses do.

Examining herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but critique her own appearance. Mother always said that she was chubby side, with her hips and chest all in the wrong proportions. That was why wearing the spandex costume always made her a little self-conscious. The loose-fitting _yukata_ covered her form up now, and she found herself oddly at ease, despite the looming task ahead of her.

She could hear Flynn cursing in the cubicle next door and was thankful that the staff locker room was empty save the two of them. Otherwise, his ranting would have earned them unwanted attention long ago.

Emerging from her cubicle, she noticed that the door to his was still ajar, as if he hadn't even bothered with closing it. Frowning, Rapunzel took a peek around the wooden panel, hoping that her reluctant hostage was not in his birthday suit.

Flynn was fortunately dressed (well, her protected upbringing was thankful, though her curiosity wasn't). He still had his trousers on, while his shirt was on the floor. The cast for his wounded arm had been be disposed at his feet too, presumably so that he could slip the sleeves of the _yukata_ over his arms. The problem now was that he had encountered now came in the form of tying the _obi_ around his waist. Simultaneously keeping in place the robes while trying to do a complex knot with only one hand was a fruitless endeavour, if the man's frustrated expressions were anything to go by. He hadn't noticed her standing outside his dressing closet, and honestly, he probably didn't care.

 _"_ _Ahem."_ It was only when he jerked his head up that he spotted her there. "Need help?"

Flynn didn't say anything, only pulling a displeased expression. Nonetheless, he dropped his arm, allowing the robes to fall back to hanging loosely from his arms. It was then that Rapunzel realised that she had been given a view of his bare chest, only that she could barely see the skin at all. Instead, there were long black patterns etched along the toned muscles, large flowers and wind-blown trees interwoven with swirls of dark horses. The blonde girl quickly tore her eyes away once she realised that she had been staring, but it was too late. The questioning brow that Flynn lifted at her made her flush crimson and she scurried forward to help him tie his _yukata_ , deliberately trying not to look at the elaborate motifs.

They stood in awkward silence, with Rapunzel trying to tie the gangster's robe around him and the gangster mutely assessing her. Wanting to break the tension, curiosity prompted her, "Did they hurt?"

"What?" Flynn was gazing at her oddly again, and it occurred to her that while doing the knots on his _obi_ that she was standing very close to him. Needless to say, it was the first time she had ever been in such close contact to a male.

No, no, wait. There was that time that he had a knife at her throat.

"Your tattoos. I was just wondering – well, they just -" She was starting to regret asking him the question. Maybe she should have played cool; get him to help her find 13, then let him go, or turn him over to ... whatever appropriate authorities. Do it all professional and cold, the way Mother would have done it. Mother wouldn't have allowed herself get caught up in fluttering feelings of standing in proximity of a member of the opposite gender, or allow herself to wonder why she hadn't noticed how attractive said member of the opposite gender was, or wonder about tattoos and peoples' obsessions with them. "They're just very elaborate. I wondering if it hurt to have them done, that's all."

He snorted just as she had finished doing the knot and automatically, both of them took a step away from each other, mistrust thick in the air. Flynn then reach over for his sling and swung the fabric over his head. At first, she thought he was going to ignore the question, and she wouldn't blame him for it, but then she heard his bitter mutter, "It took six months for the front, and six months for the back. I couldn't sleep at all."

"Wow," was all her brain could come up with. She honestly couldn't tell if that was a complaint or a boast.

"It wasn't really the pain that bothered me. To be honest, I don't really mind tattoos. It's what they represent that irks me." He lifted up his good hand and the loose _yukata_ sleeve fell back, exposing the horse emblem that was inked into forearm. The artist in her immediately went to admiring the dedication that went into designing.

Flynnhowever, did not share her opinions. Sneering, he allowed the cotton sleeves to cover the skin once again, as if he hated gazing upon it – and perhaps he did. "It's like a slave mark – you know, like they did in olden days."

"You … don't like the Yakuza?" From the impression that she got from articles online and in the papers, she had thought that all members of a Yakuza would have been brainwashed from birth to serve their masters with unswaying loyalty. Yet, from whatever she had seen of Flynn, he'd been largely acting on his own accord. If it wasn't for the tattoos, she wouldn't think of him as a gangster at all. A thief, yes, and also a rogue, but not really a gangster - not a Nightmare. Not a loyal one at least.

"The Yakuza," he spat out the words, following it with a set of fierce-sounding swear words. Rapunzel didn't know the meaning of most them, but just listening to the barrage made her uncomfortable.

In attempt to plug the downpour, she asked then, "That time, you said that stole my bike because you needed the license plate."

"Yes." He slipped his splint onto the sling, adjusting it for comfort.

An idea dawned on her then as she remembered the route that she had taken to enter the city. There had been a toll-gate, which had been patrolled by several soldiers garbed in black. She hadn't made a connection until now. Goodness, it was like the city was under military rule. "You want to leave Burgeshima."

"What do you know, Sunshine Girl has a brain," Flynn jibed dryly, looking at the mirror. "Truly, I've seen everything."

Rapunzel frowned deeply at him. She had just helped him put on his clothes and he was already insulting her? "Hey," she snapped at him, hands on her hips. "My name is Solaris."

"Yes, and it's as forgettable as your face, clearly, if you think a pair of glasses will hide your appearance." His eyes were still glued to the mirror, with his good hand stroke back his brown looks. "Call yourself what you want, Blondie, but there's no way that you are a superhero."

"Excuse me?" Usually, she was pretty patient, but there was something Rider's cocky manner that rubbing her the wrong way. Before she knew it, Rapunzel's left hand had grabbed the front of his robe, forcing him to look at her. Her right hand was filled by light-constructed skillet – her favourite weapon of choice. She lifted its base towards his face

"Look, _Flynn Rider_." The blonde did her best to say his name the way one would say 'idiotic' or 'callous', because callous and idiotic was what he was being now. "I don't like this situation any better than you do, but I need your help in stopping a master criminal from killing innocent people."

"Innocent people?" His derision was impossible to miss, especially from the twisting of his handsome countenance. "There's no such thing as innocence. And 13? He's twice the hero you'll ever be." He scratched his chin, a warped grin appearing above it. "In fact, I might even help him."

Oh, how she wanted to frying-pan him in his smug - but stupidly beautiful - face! How she wanted to throw him out of the window and catch him only at the last moment before he hit the ground! That would give him a good scare. But the truth was that she didn't know enough about 13 to take him on her own – that was clear enough. However, if Flynn made good on his threat, she'd have a serious problem on his hands.

In her mind, a spark of cunning suddenly emerged, and she said with a calm that she didn't know she had, "You do realise that while you were fighting me yesterday 13 had you under a trance."

"Please. Fool the pub thugs." He scoffed at her comment, pulling at her arm so that she would let go off of him. "I don't do superstition."

"But you also can't remember how you fought me, and I remembered clearly that one moment you were there and the next moment, 13 was there instead," Rapunzel argued, folding her arms. It was her turn to raise a challenging brow at him. "Like it or not, 13 did something to you. Mind-control, maybe, or body possession, -" she shrugged carelessly, pleased to note how Flynn's face paled "-or he's controlling your body from afar with some voodoo doll."

"You're just making this up," was his comeback, but she could tell the notions nauseated him. In fact, he looked like he was going to ill. A part of her couldn't help but be pleased to have torn that smug expression of his face.

"I know what I saw." The blonde raised her hands in surrender. "You might not want to trust this 'hero' of yours. Just saying."

He merely grunted, changing the subject not so subtly, "Got a bandana somewhere? I need to disguise myself."

She managed to find another _obi_ lying around, so Flynn folded it up and with her help (she only gave it did this time when he said "please". Albeit, he did roll his eyes when he did so), had it tied over his forehead, covering up part of his fringe. He nicked an eyeliner from one of the bags lying around the locker area, which she disapproved of until he promised to put it back. She watched as him thicken the lines around his eyes, adding false scars under his chins and colouring his brows to a new shade. After he was done, there was still a hint of his original self, but he looked older, more rugged. It would take a close scrutiny for anyone to identify him.

"That," he declared to her proudly when she noticed him watching, "is how you do a real disguise."

Grudgingly, the artist in her had to admit his skill was impressive. She privately made a mental note to ask Mother to teach how to do make-up. It would a handy skill whenever she needed to go incognito on a job. Of course, that would be after Mother grounded her for life.

Without really realising it, the words came tumbling out of her mouth, "Could you do it on me?"

He seemed rather taken aback.

"You said that my disguise was terrible," Rapunzel reminded him, glad that he did say that so that her request wouldn't sound so strange. She removed the fake glasses, taking a step towards him with a boldness she didn't know she had. "So why don't you help me fix it?"

"You really trust me to do this?" He shot her a curious look, but he didn't seem completely unwilling. "What if I poke you in the eye and run off?"

"Then I'll hunt you down and break your nose."

Strangely, he laughed her comment. "Fair enough, I reckon."

Cosmetics have never touched her face. Mother said that no confident woman would ever be willing put strange-smelling chemicals upon her countenance. Make-up was the false equaliser of appearance, created to busy and burden weak women so that they would never think of pursuing more worthy recreations. It had been odd remark to make, considering that Mother had been examining her eye-bags in the mirror at the time.

For someone who had pointed a gun at her multiple times, Flynn was surprising gentle with the way he pressed the pencil on her skin. As he traced lines around her lid, she noticed how cleanly green his eyes were – not lime green, but dark, like an aged forest. His forehead wrinkled as he focused on his task, an expression that she had worn many times when she was working on a painting. Not a word slipped off his usually spiteful tongue as he concentrated solely on brushing out the lines, and he seemed to have forgotten where they were.

"Flynn?" she suddenly asked.

"Yes, Blondie?" he answered absent-mindedly. "And please try not to blink. It's messes up my work when you do."

Rapunzel let out a huff that he had once again called something that wasn't her superhero alias, but did not move, as he told her. She did however continue to talk, "Do you hate me?"

He paused his work, gazing at her in quizzical manner.

"I mean, I know we did fight, and you are a criminal, and I'm a hero, and I'm kind of holding you against your will here," the girl blurted out, cursing herself internally for being so awkward. "So I get it if you hate me and stuff, and I know it sounds weird, but I just want to check-"

He sighed, pausing his work to rub his temple, muttering, "Do you always ask such weirdly direct questions?"

"I find it better than going around in circles for nothing," Rapunzel said, sucking in a breath as she did. She didn't know why she was so nervous about asking this question.

"Well, why do you care what I think of you?" he prodded, pointing the pencil at her.

"Well, I just-" she rubbed her hands against each other. It sounded silly to say that she didn't like it when people disliked her, and she felt that he probably disliked her, so she was feeling very uneasy and…yeah, she needed to come up with something else, "-collect feedback from criminals I meet. Kind of a customer feedback. Thing."

He stared at her for a long moment, before he suddenly burst into laughter. Rapunzel couldn't help but feel a little offended.

"Oh, Blondie," he cackled.

"Solaris," she corrected sternly.

" _Gesundheit_." The thief finally managed to get his snickers under control, clearing his throat. He shook his head at her. "If you're a superhero, you definitely the weirdest of the lot."

Weird wasn't usually a good thing. Mother often told her that she was weird in a tone that meant that she needed to work on it and improved. But when he said it, there seemed to be admiration behind it.

"To answer your question-" his face turned serious "-I _don't_ , believe it or not, actually hate you." He resumed his work around her lashes, holding her shoulder as he did. "You're at the most an obstacle, and at the least an annoyance."

"An annoyance?" Of course she was indignant about that. Might as well say a pest! Ha!

"You're in my way," he said. It didn't make her feel any better.

"In way of what?" she repeated crossly, flinching back slightly until she remembered that she wasn't supposed to move.

"Well, my plans." This vague supplement was not very useful.

"I really don't understand what you're getting at."

Flynn groaned, shaking his head and he forcefully stilled her head so that he continued his work on her face. "Well, you're not very good at interrogation."

"This isn't an interrogation," she contradicted him hotly.

"Oh?"

"It's a conversation, held between two people in a _civilised_ manner." The word came out between gritted teeth.

"Fraternising with the enemy." He clucked his tongue patronisingly at her. "What would your mother say?"

She ignored his comment, mostly because she didn't want to think about her mother. "So I might be in your way of leaving the city now. But if that's so, then how can you haven't left before?"

"Well, for one, I've been framed for a murder that I didn't commit, so with a bounty on my head, it's a tad tough to leave town."

"That's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it'? That's a pretty big factor."

"But that was also pretty recent, wasn't it?" Rapunzel pointed out. "If you wanted to leave so badly, then why hadn't you gone long, long before?"

He gazed at her with a peculiar expression, before finally saying, "You're a lot smarter than you look, you know that?"

She didn't answer, merely staring at him intently, as if daring him to reveal more.

He lowered the pencil from her face, drawing back a little. She couldn't quite read his face, but she sensed conflict brewing in him. He then said, softly, almost as if it were a secret, "Money."

"Money?" She recalled how he had said, back in the pub, was to be surrounded with money on a deserted island. It would a silly dream, she felt. What good was money if you were all alone?

"I'm a criminal, Goldie, and a known member to a dangerous crime syndicate," he told her plaintively. "If I leave this town as Flynn Rider, I'll get arrested."

"Well," she hesitated, as part of her moral side told her to tell him that he deserved to get arrested for all the crimes he had done, but she doubted that would earn her any favour points from him. "Why not change your name then?"

"That is not enough." He shook his head. "Don't know if you've heard, Sunshine, but having tattoos like mine is a criminal offence in itself outside this town. Trust me – it's much easier to get caught than you think."

"Oh." Rapunzel had actually heard of this law. It had been implemented in the fifties when Yakuza power was at its peak all around Ameripan. The authorities wanted to give the police powers to rapidly detain gang members, so people having _irezumi_ gang-style tattoos were arrested on sight. The enforcement of the law had since slackened, with an increase in the number of gangs that stopped getting tattoos and with an increasing number of non-gangsters getting tattoos. Still, she knew for a fact that police in Korobe, which was after all the nearest city to Burgeshima, kept a look out for people bearing gang tattoos. Those of the Nightmare Yakuza – with distinct black markings and elaborate swirls of horses – would be impossible to miss.

"I don't just want to get out of this city, Goldilocks." There was a surprising amount of sincerity in voice, and she could almost believe that they were friends with the way he acted. "I want to get out of this-" he gestured vaguely at himself "-this mess called my life. I want to start over. Clean slate. New name, new identity."

It then struck how ironic how it was here. Here she was in his city, trying to create a new identity for herself apart from the frivolous reputation she had earned back in Korobe. And here he was, trying to escape from this very city to scrap off his old-identity as a wanted thief. They were complete opposites, yet so alike.

"Well, Flynn Rider," Rapunzel breathed out at last, praying that she wasn't making the wrong decision. "I'm prepared to offer you deal."

Scepticism was scrawled all over his face.

"Look, I will help you get out of Burgeshima, and help you establish your new identity, _and_ help you get rid of your tattoos, if you help me catch 13 tonight."

He frowned, full of distrust. "Seriously?"

"Yes!" She nodded vigorously to show exactly how serious she was.

"But isn't that what you're already forcing me to do?"

"Well, I don't intend for this to be hostage situation. I don't like forcing things on people." A dark memory of Mother's sharp remarks and biting came to mind, but she managed to shake it off. "I rather we make-" she held out her left hand towards him "-a partnership."

Flynn glanced down at her hand, then at his broken arm.

"Oh, right." Rapunzel withdrew her hand sheepishly. He couldn't shake her hand like that. Oops. Hastily, she elucidated on her proposal, "All you have to do is promise that from here on, you'll leave your life of crime. That's all."

"Promise?" he repeated the word, an amused smirk rising on his lips.

"Yes." A heated comeback touched her lips, but she shook it off in favour of sounding civil. "When I make a promise, I never, _ever_ break it."

He didn't answer, wry smile still playing on his lips.

"E-ver," she said once again, greater emphasis this time.

Flynn shook his head. For a moment he was going swear at her and tell her to stuff it, but he then sighed, shoulders slumping. "Well, from the way things look now, I don't exactly have much choice." He held his good hand out towards her.

A wide smile spread itself across her face as she grabbed his hand, shaking it much harder than necessary. "Done!"

"Ow!" The man's countenance contorted in pain as he yanked his hand back from her. "Geez, I've got only one working hand at the moment. Try not to break it, will you?"

"Oh, sorry." Rapunzel turned crimson. Years of pulling, tossing and tying her light-hair had made her hands stronger than expected, and she didn't have enough opportunities to make contact with other people. As she peered down at Flynn's injury, it occurred to her that there was something she could do about it. "Here, to show you that I intend to make good on my promise, I'll help you fix your arm."

"Fix my arm? Sorry if you're some nursing student behind that-" he made a vague gesture at her "-anyway, they shattered my elbow. Honestly unless you have magic healing powers, you're not going to do much."

"Just trust me." She tugged at his sling.

Expression full of doubt, he followed her instructions to remove his sling. When it came to removing his cast, they had to sit themselves at a chair so that Flynn could rest his arm on it. As she unwrapped his arm from its swathes of bandages, she tried not to wince at the bruises his tattoos could not hide. Like he had said, it seemed that they had snapped his elbow backwards.

"Yeah, it's gross," Flynn murmured, sounding a little sick himself. "Can we just wrap it back up and pretend it never happened?"

Rapunzel didn't pay attention, instead choosing to focus her thoughts on her hair. The golden locks behind her hair extended themselves, tumbling over her shoulder. She took up the strands in her hands and began to wrap them gingerly around the broken arm, careful not to make it too tight.

"Okay, now this is getting seriously weird." He was sounding a tad nervous. Then again, it was the first he had ever seen her use her powers in such an obvious way.

She still didn't answer him yet, choosing the moment to focus on her work. Deciding that the wrapping was sufficient, she then turned to him. "Try not to freak out."

"Okay?" Flynn Rider, so full of confidence before, now sat in pool of uncertainty.

Rapunzel inhaled deeply. If Mother knew what she was doing right this moment, and on whom she was doing it on, she would never forgive her.

Well, thank goodness Mother wasn't here than.

So the girl closed her eyes, and began to sing the incantation,

 _"Flower, gleam and glow,_

 _Let your power shine._

 _Make the clock reverse,_

 _Bring back what once was mine."_

The hair, crafted of yellow light, now shone as bright as the rays of the sun, flooding the room with it golden glory while her soft voice continued,

 _"Heal what has been hurt,_

 _Change the Fate's Design._

 _Save what has been lost,_

 _Bring back what once was mine."_

The lights in her hair started to fade, returning to the strands to their dull yellow colour.

 _"What once was mine."_

As she began to reach out to unwrap his arm, Flynn beat her to it. He tore off the strands with his good hand. The arm that had been twisted and bruised now looked perfectly fine.

The man stared at his hand, then at her, then at his hand again, and then he looked like he was going to scream, so she quickly butted in, "Please don't freak out!"

She couldn't have said it sooner, because he did look like he was going to freak out. But instead a flood of words came rushing out, "Freaking out? Who's freaking out? I mean, it's not as if my dislocated arm has just been fixed by some glowing light thing – which reminds me, aren't you supposed to be a photokinetic? That means you control light right? _Right?_ Am I mad? Am I seeing things? Why can you do this? How is light magic related to healing stuff? _How? How?_ "

"Well, it's… an energy thing," was all she could really answer. At that moment, Rapunzel happened to notice the clock. It was almost time. "We should go. Don't want to get fired from our jobs."

"Right, right." Flynn was still twisting and poking his left arm, flabbergasted by what had just occurred. "We really should – hey, Blondie?"

"Yes?"

"Did you notice that-" he pointed at his skin, to the areas that she had wrapped her hair around. Those areas, which had once been covered with black markings, were now clear, returned to healthy skin.

"Well, tattoos are essentially scars, aren't they?" She jerked her chin towards the door, feeling extremely relieved to find that her idea worked. It seemed that it would be easier than expected to keep her word to the thief after all. It was just a matter of him keeping his part.

"Huh." He followed after her, a mysterious expression crossing his features. Just as they were about to leave changing room, Flynn hastened forward to help her open the door, saying, "You are full of surprises, aren't you, Solaris?"

"Perhaps." She shrugged, beaming at his use of her hero name. She then noticed all the other waiters and waitresses along the walkway, hands full of dishes or carts, or even notebooks, staring at them. "Oh, I guess we better get to work."

* * *

"I told you you'd look exquisite this dress."

"Yes, and you also told me you'd be here at six."

"Well, I'm apologise for being slightly late."

"You're an hour late!"

He glanced questioningly at her. "I never thought you'd be so eager to get into a party."

Merida snorted at that. "Please. My problem was that I had to wear this-" she thumbed the pink frilled gown that sandwiched her body "-disgusting invention of human stupidity for an extra sixty minutes!"

"Not so loud." Hans winced, glancing at the finely dressed crowd around them.

The redheaded girl shook back her curls nonchalantly. As per Hans' advice, Maudie had helped her do up her hair in an elaborate bun, with copper coils springing down behind her. Adorned upon her was also an elaborate headpiece made of glitter, frills and crystals. It was shoved on rather tightly and it made her want to scratch her scalp more than ever.

The gala was located on the topmost floor of the _Hotel Kurokuro_ , so they had only needed to step out of her room and take the lift up to the 'Starlight Deck' a.k.a. the fancy ballroom with huge glass ceiling. Her invitation had been collected and they went through security before entering the ballroom itself.

Though she would never admit it out loud, the ballroom was rather splendid. Crystal lights were adorned on the Dorian styled pillars, as if they were stars themselves. The polished black marble under their feet furthered the illusion of guest stepping into the night sky, reflecting off the lights and candles, even the glow of the pale moon above them. Drapes of gold hung over the walls, tables and chairs, making one feel as if they were swimming rivers of riches. The large, spacious windows also allowed one the view of Burgeshima's skyline, which brimming with a vicious vibrancy that she had never noticed before.

"Lovely place, isn't it?" A smooth, silky voice invaded her thoughts.

Merida swung around to face the one speaking. The owner of the voice was a tall, thin figure, wrapped in a dark, long kimono that trailed across the floor. His skin was pale and his face gaunt, with eyes that seemed almost yellow.

When he grinned down at her, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had met him before. "It is a pleasure to see you once again, Miss Dunbroch."

"Merida." Hans had drawn himself up to his side. When she took a peek at him, she noticed how his eyes hardened and the way his jaw clenched when he glared at the pale man. "I didn't know that you've met the _Kumicho_."

"Please, call me Pitch." His smile, reeking condescension and arrogance, was directed at her, his pupils gleaming with dangerous mischief. "Though I think Miss Dunbroch remembers me under another name."

Then the memory flashed in her mind and she gasped, stumbling back on her heels. Hans fortunately caught her in time to keep her from slipping, but he could not still her shaking hands. "You," she exhaled, ridden in shock, "you said you were Kumori-"

"Nakahara? Yes, that's one of my alias," he explained casually, as if it were perfectly normal to parade around in an identity other than one's own. "But here, Pitch Black will do. I am sorry for the deception the other night, but I wanted to learn more about you without all the fanfare." His tone, however, told her that he was not at all sorry. Why would he be? He was Pitch Black – notorious Nightmare King, Kingpin of Burgeshima, Master of Fear and Lord of Crime. And she had met him without even knowing about it.

She was really losing her touch.

His piercing eyes left her for a moment to flit towards Hans, who was still glaring hard at him. "Ah, the youngest Westergaard," Pitch Black said with a flippant air. "It's a pleasure to you again. It's been what-" he made a show of thinking "-five years?"

"Six, actually," Hans corrected, polite but on the edge. If she was seeing things right, he looked as if he could tear the ganglord apart with his bare hands.

"Well, you haven't changed in the slightest," Pitch said with a humorless smile. "My daughter would no doubt love to speak with you and hear about your latest-" his head jerked not so subtly towards Merida "-dalliance."

"Undoubtedly," was Hans' frosty response.

"Well-" the _Kumicho_ was completely unaffected by the young man's answer, turning his gaze back to Merida, "-I do hope you have a lovely tonight, Miss Dunbroch. It would do you some good to relax. After all, it can never be easy for following the footsteps of a parent, can it?"

A horrible sensation suddenly ran up her spine, much like one that she had last time during her encounter with Pitch. Only that this time, a clear image rose to mind - a memory. Before the grizzly details could attack her, she shook her head, forcing herself to take deep breaths. It was only then that she realised that Pitch had already taken his leave of them.

"C'mon." Hans tapped her by the arm, glaring the dark figure that had moved down the ballroom. "Let's go sit down."

They headed to their assigned seats, which they found by reading the cards on their table. Just as they were about sit down, a soft, melodic voice interrupted them, "Hans?"

Both their heads turned, though only one had been called. Standing by the side of the circular table was a woman dressed in a shimmering turquoise gown. Translucent white satin flowed down from her arms, draped around her body like a waterfall. Her hair was yellow, bordering on white and her eyes were a large, deep blue. She seemed to resemble more of an elfin creature than a human, which made it all the more bizarre that she had chosen to approach their table.

Hans, however, didn't seem enraptured by this beautiful young woman. "Elsa."

The woman seemed to cringed at his aloof greeting, wringing her gloved hands together. Merida frowned at her date. In all her time with him so far, he had been the picture of a perfect gentleman, charming everyone left, right, centre. But here he was deliberately rude and unpleasant. She couldn't understand it at all.

"It's nice to see you again," the young woman continued hesitantly. Now looking closer at her, Merida guessed that she was really quite young – maybe twenty at most. "I'm glad that you seem well."

Hans didn't say anything. He didn't even look at her. The blonde woman called Elsa appeared rather awkward with this response – a little hurt even. She blinked at the girl, then her countenance was cleared from all expression. It was with stiff formality that she asked, "And you are?"

"Merida Dunbroch," the redhead answered, manner expectedly cool. Usually she stopped there, but for some reason now, she continued on, "Heir to Dunbroch Bank & Trust. You might've heard of it."

"I have." The woman, Elsa, narrowed her cold blue eyes at her. "Your mother, I heard, is quite a remarkable woman. Mayor and CEO – that's no easy feat."

"Yes, she is," Merida agreed, sticking her chin up a little. She usually wasn't like this. She didn't feel a need to talk back to the condescending old fuddies and their pampered wives before, but something in Hans' demeanour made her distrust this young woman. That, and it couldn't be too natural for someone to be _that_ beautiful. That was just…unfair. So in a bid to show-off what she didn't have, the girl added, "I reckon I take after her in that."

"I certainly hope so," Elsa said, frigid as an Artic wind. "Well, I hope you both enjoy the gala. That, and that he treats you better than your predecessors." She glanced briefly at Hans, this time with a hint of disdain, before assuming again her impassive visage. "Good evening."

"Yeah," Merida murmured, as the blonde turned around and departed from their table. A waiter had filled their glasses with wine and Hans silently emptied his in a gulp. The girl noted that with a measure of distaste, then nudged him in the ribs.

The young lawyer's usual handsome feature contorted into a scowl as his brows furrowed at her. "What?"

Merida was hardly intimidated and glared in return. "What was that about?"

"She thinks that we're dating." He rolled his eyes, before reaching over to take her glass and proceeded to pour its contents down his throat.

Getting really annoyed, she snatched the wineglass from his fingers, plopping it back to its original spot. "That's fairly obvious, but seriously, who is she? Your ex or something?"

"And I wonder why your result slips are littered in 'Ds'," was his wry answer. "You do have the brains, after all."

"You look at my school results?" Merida regarded him with disgust. "Why?" He merely shrugged at her before dropping himself into his assigned seat. Shaking her head – but not too hard, if not the careful arrangement of hair would fall apart – she sat herself down next to him, undaunted by his reluctance. "Well, so, has she been trying to get back together with you? Or is there another reason for neglecting to tell her that we're not, in fact, dating?"

"It makes her jealous," he said shortly. When she continued her level gaze him, he supplied, none too helpfully, "I can't hurt her any other way."

"O-kay." To be honest, she didn't really understand his behaviour. She could put it down to her lack of knowledge about romantic relationships and their bitter breakings, but it was really Hans himself who disturbed her now. Perhaps she had been too used to his calm patience and his unflappable amicability, but it occurred to her that tonight was the first time that she had ever seen him interact with people that he really knew. And it was beyond doubt that there was some history between him and this Elsa person.

"Oh, she's Pitch's daughter, if you haven't realised," Hans added idly, voice thick with mockery. "The little Nightmare Princess to His Royal Nefariousness."

Merida eyed him with concern. Was that _malice_ in his tone? She didn't even know that he was capable of it. Even though she didn't exactly disagree with his assessment of their host, his manner seemed unnecessarily harsh and, considering where they were now, a little unwise.

Before she could probe him any further, she realised that there was a commotion happening on the other side of the ballroom. A small crowd of well-groomed guests were all huddled in a circle, whispering to one another. Frowning, Merida rose from her seat, trying to see what exactly was happening, but even though she was balancing on her painful heels, she couldn't. She cast a glance towards her date, but he hadn't seemed to have noticed the commotion at all. In fact, he appeared to be absorbed in his own thoughts. If she had to spend the entire evening by his side, it was going to be very dull.

She left the table, teetering uneasily across the polished floor as she made her way to the small crowd. As she drew nearer, she could pick out bits and pieces of the conversation.

"Astonishing."

"Well, however did you do it?"

"Easy. It was just an issue of compatibility," a familiar cocky voice rang after. It sounded young, arrogant and _familiar_. Merida found herself creeping closer, trying to find a gap between the closely huddled heads. "I merely designed an entirely new system, fitted the same program back in and – _tada!_ Magically, it's all fixed."

The opulently-garbed throng tittered obligingly, murmuring admiration and praises to the young gentleman that had captured their attention.

No, not young gentleman. Boy. More specifically, _Robotics Prodigy_ boy.

Merida's jaw dropped.

When the brown eyes of Robotics Prodigy boy met hers, an impish grin spread itself across his face. Flitting back to his enraptured audience, he said, "Well, sorry. Got a little carried away with that story."

"Nonsense, young man," an old fellow in crowd said politely. "It's all very fascinating. It's truly a feat to have made it so young in life."

"Ah." The young man blushed at the compliment. Then again, he must have heard so many times by now, so was it just an act? "Thank you, but I have 'hardly made it life' as you say. I've still got things to do, problem to fix, people-" he suddenly paused, as if a foreign thought had just invaded his mind. But he shook it off quickly, all bright smiles again "-people to help."

With that, the small crowd dispersed itself, though the head-turning and whispering around him didn't seem to stop. The boy however didn't pay any attention to that, marching instead towards Merida, feigning astonishment as he examined her from head to toe. "Well, well, who might this lovely-" was he really flirting with her? Really? "-young woman be?"

Merida, of course, was unimpressed. "What are you doing here, prodigy boy?"

He frowned at her address of him. "You don't remember my name, do you?"

"I remember your hero alias." The girl shrugged. "Your real name didn't strike me as very important."

"How the heck do you even fight crime if you can't remember the criminals' names?" he hissed at her. When prodigy boy leaned towards her, it occurred to her that the splay of his black hair on his head didn't quite match his pressed black and white suit. In fact, he seemed quite out of place amongst the older crowd, being the young nouveau riche. He seemed fully aware of that with how he was tugging against the collar.

"I punch their face."

He let out a chuckle. "You remind me of one of my friends. She believes actions speak louder than words."

"Friend or 'Co-worker'?"

"Both." He grinned, then gestured towards the buffet table. "Shall we?"

While they loaded their plates with an assortment of goodies, Merida cast a cautionary glance around before whispering to him, "But seriously, how did you get in here? I thought it was a pretty exclusive event."

"Well, I'm a brilliant young semi-celebrity billionaire," he declared cockily. "I get invited to a lot of things."

"But not 'things' like these," the redhead shot back cynically.

"I'm also a brilliant hacker and forger. Besides, you told me to find a way to communicate with you without using a device that 13 can break into. This-" he gestured towards his suit "-was my solution."

"I have to admit that I'm impressed." She found herself smiling slightly despite herself. In a lower voice, she asked, "When do we leave?"

"I've got someone watching the heat signatures in the castle," he murmured back as a reply, raising his hand to rub his nose. Merida realised that he did that to hide his lips from the view of others – did he expect others to watching them? Then again, it wouldn't hurt to be careful. "When they're low enough, we'll go. You can take us in, right?"

Merida lifted a hand to adjust the neckline of her dress whilst subtly feeling for her pendant. It wasn't glowing now, but it would once she activated it. "Yep."

"Splendid. In the meanwhile, let's stuff our faces." He picked up the matcha _mochi_ on his plate and popped in his mouth, pulling a face. "Don't take that one."

* * *

He was actually surprised that they got through security without a hitch. Okay, well, they did hold Tooth back for a bit because her jewellery was making the metal detector go ballistic. When they asked her to remove them, she proceeded to berate them because she had spent two whole hours arranging that comb in her hair. They let her go after that.

Jamie had gone off to sit with his friends, with Tooth's permission, and from Jack's understanding, he was supposed to be giving a martial arts display later with those kids. It was better that he was kept out of the way, just in case things fell apart.

As Tooth paused in front of mirrored wall to straighten out her _sari_ , Jack wandered a little on his own, studying the impressive ballroom. So this was what Pitch had been pouring his blood money in; crystal chandeliers and mountains of caviar. It was remarkable, as always, how well the villains seemed to thrive when the heroes scraped the crumbs.

But that wasn't what was really bothering him – no, he had never craved riches or fortune. Just standing here in the ballroom of the _Hotel Kurokuro_ made him feel incredibly unsettled. He stared up through the glass ceiling, trying to place his feelings.

"I don't believe I know you."

Oh, that voice. A shudder ran down Jack's spine, and it wasn't from cold. He lowered his gaze instantly and his blue eyes met yellow ones.

" _Kumicho-sama!_ " He felt Tooth scurry up to his side, her arm hooking into his. She could felt making a small bow. "I beg your pardon for not greeting you immediately. It's truly been an honour to be invited to your gala."

He then felt a nudge in his ribs. Tooth had her brow raised at him. The young alien hurriedly imitated her action of bowing, but only briefly. He hadn't seen the man for what – twenty years? Maybe more than that. But he hadn't changed in the slightest. Well, his jaw seemed to have sharpened and his skin seemed to have greyed, but the taunting arrogance and spiteful glee was still marked in his every gesture.

"The honour, Dr. Kadni, is mine." He smiled. Oh, how Jack wanted to punch that irksome smile from his face as he took up Tooth's jewelled hand and cupped it between his own. Something dark in the boy's heart swirled – protectiveness, fear, anger and … jealousy? It was almost as if the Nightmare King could read his thoughts, for he released the woman's hand then to gaze at him, inquiring, "Who's this?"

"My plus-one," Tooth gushed, whether in anxiety or feigned eagerness. "I was allowed a plus-one, yes?"

Pitch's smile disappeared, brows furrowed together. Jack however refused to be intimidated. Holding his hand out, he introduced himself – or rather, who he was pretending to be. "Jack Ryes, or Jack. A pleasure, sir."

The old nemesis of the Guardians stared at him, and Jack knew that he was trying to search his thoughts. But in the past, Pitch had never been able to read him. It was the Nightmare King's greatest frustration that he couldn't rip his greatest fears from his mind the way he did with everyone, and perhaps why Jack Frost had such an advantage in fighting him.

Well, u _sed to have_ an advantage, at least. Now Jack Frost was a fugitive and Pitch was a king.

This little quirk of his would have given them away if Tooth hadn't already thought of the solution. It'd be simple matter, she had told him, to project thoughts of her own creation onto him, so that when Pitch attempted to dig into his mind, he would find that Jack Ryes was a simple computer technician who was deathly afraid of monkeys.

When his lip curled upward in an amused manner, Jack knew that the great leader of Nightmare Yakuza had fallen for Tooth's bluff. The pale man then said, "Well, I would have never expected a lady esteemed as Dr. Kadni would be involved with fellow so … unsophisticated."

"Or, we're not involved," Tooth hurriedly added, cheeks turning pink. "Not, well, not like _that_."

"Indeed," Pitch murmured, eyeing Jack with disdain.

It was then Jack noticed a young woman drawing up towards the kingpin, carrying two ceramic glasses of steaming tea. She had the grace of an angel, and in a blue gown, she looked almost as much. But there was a subtle limp in her movement, as if moving itself hurt. She approached the man and held up one of the cups.

Pitch regarded beverage with distaste. "Elsa, this is a party. No one drinks tea at a party."

"No one that's not sensible, I imagine," was the woman's answer, her gloved hand pressing the cup into his bony hand. The boy observed this scene with surprise. What person would dare contradict the Great King of Shadows?

"Forgive my daughter. She's constantly nagging me about my health. As if I haven't lived long enough." Pitch let out a chuckle that Tooth was sensible enough to imitate, while the girl merely shook her white-gold head.

He had seen that hair before. It was a shade that burned into his mind. When Tooth had asked him to come with him to the gala, to find the person whom she suspected to be his cryokinetic imposter, he didn't expect that person to be so easy to find. Yet here she was, standing next to one of the most dangerous man in the planet, dressed up to the nines. When her sapphire eyes moved themselves from Tooth to him, he watched her cup-carrying hand tremble with puzzlement. It was a wonder that she didn't drop it.

Her father gestured towards them. "Well, my dear, you've met Dr. Kadni before,-" Tooth made a small bow at her, "-and this her companion,-"

Before Pitch could finish his introduction, the boy had already moved forward, taking her free hand in his. She gasped in surprise and in the backdrop, Jack noted that a few suited guards had stepped forward, hands near their belts in preparation. Tooth was watching him in alarm and the Nightmare King in incredulity.

Ignoring them, he planted a kiss on the girl's hand, then looked her straight in the eye. "Jack. Just call me Jack."

Her eyes widened and she snatched her hand back. And it was then that, despite the changed hair colour, he knew _that_ she knew. After all, he had felt the pulsing cold under the glove when he had said his name.

"Well, that, young man-" he heard Pitch saying with unbridled displeasure, "was very, very inappropriate." It might have been a trick of the light, but the shadows around him seemed to intensify.

"I apologise on his behalf, Ms. Black," Tooth hurriedly, grabbed him by the arm and shooting him a glare. "He's not _all there_ , if you know what I mean." He could almost hear her voice in his head, _"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"_

"It's alright. I'm not offended – just a little shocked, that's all," was his ex-imposter's collected defence. She avoided looking at him in the eye, smiling at her father – _her father! The Nightmare King!_ – instead. Looping her arm with that of the ex-supervillain, she said, "Come, father. I'm sure there are others that you need to greet."

"Unfortunately, yes," Pitch muttered in a tone that indicated his dislike for such trivialities. The darkness however seemed to have vanished. He sighed, before addressing his guests once more, "Well, I wish to you a pleasant evening. We speak again, Dr. Kadni,-" he nodded at Tooth, then shooting a dark look at her companion, "-Jack."

As the two departed to complete the necessary niceties, Tooth swung around to glower at him. "What were you thinking?"

"I needed her to know," was his answer. He felt surprisingly calm about whole matter. "That way she'll come back and find me."

"And what makes you think she won't give us away now?" his companion hissed at him.

"Because we know her secret too. Don't worry about it, Tooth." He brushed off her anxiety. "We've got her cornered."

* * *

"Report, Da Xing."

 _"Lower floor security has been cleared. Moving on to the dining floors."_

"Excellent. Lang Er?"

 _"We've managed to quietly evacuate the people on from floors seven to twelves as you have ordered."_ There was pause. _"It was very difficult. One of the kids bit me."_

"I told you to report, Lang Er, not file a complaint. Now, move on up." He was about to release his hold on the communicator, when a thought struck him. He quickly added, "If you have to choose between evacuating people and shutting them up, of course, choose the later."

 _"_ _Shi de, gexia!"_

When the communicator went quiet, his right-hand stepped up to him, puzzled. "Lord Shen, why are we troubling ourselves with evacuating the hotel patrons? Won't killing them off be more convenient?"

"Yes, Da Lang," his master agreed. "Unfortunately, our ally can't stomach 'senseless murder', as he calls it."

With most of the lower floors emptied out, Shen and his generals had gathered in one of the empty rooms. Disguises that they had used to infiltrate the building were removed, replaced by uniforms of Nightmare soldiers. Weapons were cleaned one last time and checked for any anomalies before being loaded. Shen himself had been running a whet stone across his curved blade and running his eyes over the plans. He had waited for this day for too long to mess this up now.

There was a knock on the door and one of his henchmen went to check on it. He returned to announce, "My Lord, he's here."

"Let him in."

The figure in black armour marched in, face obscured by the metal mask as always. The White Peacock only granted him a cursory glance before waving him over. "You certainly are dressed for the occasion."

"As are you, though I can't imagine how you plan to sneak into the ballroom full of Nightmares dressed like that." 13's faceless head jerked itself at Shen's white robes. They were styled to imitate Qing Dynasty fashion, but without the layers and restrictions for flexible movement in combat. It seemed that the vigilante wasn't the only one with a flair for dramatics.

"I don't plan to sneak into anything." The ganglord's voice was rich in derision and pride. He thumped a fist against his chest while raising his weapon – the _guandao_ , a twisted beauty of blade sitting on its long lance hilt. This he strapped to his back before he reached for the sash carrying his knives. "That's your job, I believe."

"Fair enough." 13 shrugged before plopping himself down on one of the beds, making some of the bullets lying there jump up. This earned him some dark glares from the gunmen trying to assemble their weapons, but he didn't care. "You know the signal?"

"Do you take me for an idiot?" Shen snapped.

"Do you want me to really answer that question? You tried to assassinate the Nightmare King's daughter on your own."

"Shut up." The American Chinese scowled, smoothing back the sleeves of his robe. Wishing to change the subject, he said, more as a command then request, "I want to see the weapon."

13's metal mask watched him for a moment, as if trying to discern his thoughts. Then slowly, he pushed his long black coat back, reaching for his belt. The Wolves around them tensed up, some even lifting their arms and pointing it at the vigilante, just in case he decided to pull off a double-cross kill.

He did remove a weapon, but it was just a small gun. He did not fit his metal fingers into the trigger, just holding its frame and the magazine. Shen reached to touch it, but the vigilante withdrew immediately.

The ganglord straightened himself up, scowling even harder now. He demanded, "I want to see it. I did help procure it, after all."

13 considered his words for a second, before detaching the magazine and ripping out the clip. He poured one of the bullets into his hand and held it up for Shen's view.

Each one of the bullets cost more than half a million to make – and that wasn't taking in account the faked papers, the bribed authorities and the casualties. It was a transparent capsule with a pointed tip, containing exactly 1.56g of black sand. He could see the particles swimming inside its confines, pressing against the barriers as if they wanted to escape.

Without him realising it, an odd sort of darkness began to invade the White Peacock's mind. Shen found himself thinking of his childhood, how happy it had been, then how he abandoned it when he first tasted power. Disappointed old faces – faces of people once dear to him – floated to the surface, followed by feelings of anguish and loneliness. He could see rivers of blood, from both his enemies and innocents. He felt failure sweeping over him as his inheritance slipped from his grasp, into the hands of his spiteful enemies. He could hear the old Soothsayer's prophecy ringing in his mind, so clear that he could imagine her to be in this very room with them. _"The Peacock is defeated by a Warrior of White and Bl-"_

Shen grabbed his head, stepping away from the proffered projectile. "Put it away!"

"Why?" There was a mocking tone in 13's filtered voice. "Don't you want to touch it, at least? You were the one who procured the materials after all. "

"Put it away!" he repeated more fervently, on the verge of whipping out his _guandao_. It wasn't logical – blade against a bullet – but vicious fear had taken hold of his heart. "For heaven's sake, just do it!"

The vigilante let out a wicked chuckle as he slid the bullet back in its space and a wash of relief flowed down the ganglord. When he turned to look at his henchmen, he realised that they appeared just grateful as he. Some were even wiping sweat off their foreheads. Had they too felt the mysterious effects of the sand bullet too?

"Glad that you're not the one carrying this now?" 13 was clearly enjoying his distress as he slipped the gun into its holster. "If you had to this, you wouldn't even be able to take the safety off."

Shen let out a low growl, but said nothing. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps it was best that the masked man be the bearer of the weapon.

"Well, I'll be off now." Giving a mocking two-fingered salute, 13 promptly darted in the opposite direction of the door. The gangsters moved out of his way, yelling in surprise as the vigilante yanked open the window, climbed its sill and leapt out into the darkness. Immediately, Shen and a few of his men darted towards the window, peering out. They were greeted only with the nightlights of the city and the quiet street below.

The White Peacock sniffed. "Show-off."

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Welcome to the Gala Storyline! Currently, it's supposed to have five parts. It's on riddled in backstory, action and hopefully lots of angst. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!**

 **23 April – anyone remember this date?**

 **Finally, after putting up with broken-arm Flynn, I can finally heal it. Thank you! Oh, Rapunzel has healing powers (side note, cough).**

 **Tada! Somehow I can't resist throwing some kind of twisted Helsa in my story. In this one, it's a past thing, so, no, there will not be any Helsa in this story. If you've read** _ **The Nightmare King's Daughter**_ **(some random spin-off series that I wrote sometime back – not that important), you may guess the circumstances that surrounded this relationship and its break-up.**

 **To be honest, the lance-sword thingy that Shen uses in KFP2 doesn't look like an actual Chinese** _ **Guandao**_ **, but the wiki says it's a** _ **Guandao**_ **, so I'm going with it. Yeah. That said, I have no idea if his clothes are all that similar to Qing Dynasty ones, so..eh.**

 **Up Next: Gala Part 2. A certain one-legged hero is to be rescued and… talking. Maybe dancing.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **What's up? No, wait. Don't answer that.**

 **I think I haven't answered most of the reviews, so I apologise. Just to let y'all know, I have read them all through my exam period and now that it's over, I'll start answering stuff again. I hope.**

 **Anyway, if you enjoyed this, leave a review.**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	29. Chpt 28: Space is a Dangerous Place

Chapter 28: Space is a Dangerous Place – The Gala Part 2

"Do you have anything stronger?"

"Um, we only have champagne, white wine, err,-" she scrambled her brain for the list of alcoholic beverages "-red Italian, sake and Asahi beer."

The customer groaned as he glanced down at his empty glass. "Oh, well, just get me the Italian, then."

Rapunzel nodded before scuttling off, trying not to trip over her slippers. Balancing the dirty dishes carefully on her tray, she hurried back to the kitchen. Sorting out the dishes into the buckets based on their types, she jumped when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Relax, blondie. It's just me," she heard behind her and found to her surprise herself relaxing. It was peculiar how at ease she felt in his presence. After all, they were foes just twelve hours ago. Now, they weren't friends, but they could be considered allies at the very least. After she had repaired his arm, he had started to treat her with a good deal more respect. Well, he still didn't drop the nicknames, though she had already told him to twice that night, but at least he was cooperating.

Rapunzel turned towards him while lowering a dirtied bowl down to the bucket. "What?"

Flynn glanced around the crowded, noisy kitchen, before gesturing for her to follow him. Making sure that no one had noticed them first, Rapunzel did.

He led her to a deserted office before pulling something flat and glossy out from under his _yukata_. A magazine. "Issue #444 - Special Gala edition. You were looking for it, right?"

The girl took the magazine from him. Like all the propaganda issues she had found before, this one had a black horse symbol at the corner. Along the cover was splattered images of celebration, intertwined with _hirogana_ letters. Quickly, she perused its pages, only stopping once she found a familiar white background with markings on it. The only difference than those she had seen before was that instead of the markings of being black, they were a mix of red and black.

 _"s-e-space-s-h,"_ she read from the page, frowning. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall the rest of the sentence and fitted the missing letters in. _"For the Great Stallion shall be undone by its own Horseshoe."_

"Well, that's make sense. In a way," murmured the thief, folding his arms. She knew that he still didn't quite believe that 13 really had supernatural powers, but thus far, he had shut up about his doubts. "What do you think it means?"

"Well..." Rapunzel thought back to the time when she had discussed the marking with Jack Frost. What was it that he told her? "The Great Stallion probably refers to Nightmare Yakuza, of course."

"The Nightmare Yakuza?" Flynn pulled a face. "Are you sure about that?"

The girl eyed him with surprise. "Why not?"

"I don't pretend me an expert on writing-" he gestured down at the open page of the magazine "-whatever that is, but if 13 - if it's really 13 who wrote it - was talking about the Yakuza, he would have called it 'The Great Mare' instead."

She stared at him.

"I'm utterly serious. Look-" he took the magazine from her, flipping it back to the front cover. Pointing at the symbol of the black horse "-that's a mare, as in female horse, not a stallion. As a body, the Yakuza is referred to as a female. Like how countries and boats are always called 'she'. This curse thingy-" he was still uncomfortable with referring to it in such a way "-is not referring to the Nightmare Yakuza. It's a lot more specific."

"Specific?" Her thoughts had difficulty catching up with his. "How?"

Flynn rubbed his goatee along his chin. "'Great Stallion'. Male horse. There's only one person that could refer to."

It took a while for her to realise whom he was talking about. She gasped. "The Nightmare King."

"Exactly." The thief's handsome face contorted into a grimace. "Honestly, though, if 13's going to target the good _Kumicho_ himself, I'm not going to stop him."

Rapunzel rolled her eyes. She didn't have the time to argue with him about the flaws of violent vigilantism. "That's not the point. The problem is - what lengths would 13 go through to attack The Nightmare King?" She frowned as she brooded over the words that markings spelt out. " _'The Great Stallion shall be undone by His own Horseshoe.'_ If the Stallion is Pitch Black, then what's his 'Horseshoe'?"

Flynn shrugged. "Don't ask me. I never even understood why horses need shoes."

"Hey, you two!" they heard a holler from the doorway. It was one of the headwaiters. "Quit lazing around. There's work to do."

When that waiter disappeared, Rapunzel turned sharply to her criminal accomplice. "I need you keep an eye out for 13."

"Me?" he thumbed himself, expression incredulous.

"You've had some interaction with him, even if only subconsciously," she explained. "There must be something that you had noticed about him that no one else has. Look." She sighed, reaching to touch his arm - the arm that she had healed with her hair. "I know you don't like the Nightmare King or the Yakuza, but the solution isn't to let 13 have his way with them. If he does, lots of innocent people are going to get hurt."

He peered at her, expression impossible for her to read. "You really do believe all this, don't you?"

She wasn't sure what he expected her to say - that she didn't? "Of course I do."

He grunted, looking as if he wanted to say something more. Flynn, however, asked instead, "So, if I'm looking for 13, what will you be doing?"

"Watching the Nightmare King." She sucked in a tight breath. "And also trying to work out what the horseshoe is."

"Fair enough." He made it for the door, but then stopped. Twisting his head to face her, he said, "Hey, Blondie."

She lifted her head towards him in askance.

Flynn seemed to be in conflict before he said, "Just...be careful around the old man. He mightn't be a super villain in name anymore, but he's still vicious."

"Noted." As an afterthought, she added, "You be careful too."

He gave her a lopsided smile before disappearing around the door. Rapunzel straightened out her _yukata_ and made sure that her _obi_ was straight before returning to the kitchen. It was only then that she realised that she had forgotten all about the wine that she was supposed to get for the customer. That customer was already on his fifth glass and it was hardly advisable for him to be drinking anymore. Still, if she was going to stay on in the gala, she needed to play act the meek waitress.

Meanwhile, she had to ponder, what exactly was a _horseshoe_ referring to?

~~~0~~~

He was born into high society, but from a young age, he had been groomed to believe that he didn't belong there. The Westergaard might be one of the most prominent families along the West coast, but didn't mean that he was going to get an inch of his inheritance without earning it.

His father believed firmly in meritocracy. He practiced it in the firm and he practiced it amongst his thirteen sons. No one had told him that the success of a model in one field did not necessitate its success in another. Don't get me wrong - most of his sons emerged as highly competent, brilliant lawyers, businessmen and politicians. But they also emerged pretty much hating each other. THe culture in his family was much like the culture in his firm - cut-throat competitive and ruthless.

Hans was twenty years younger than his eldest brother. He wasn't a planned child and by the time of his birth, his parents were quite uninterested with bringing up children. They paid for his education and lodgings, but other than that, he did not see much of them. He'd have missed them if his grandfather hadn't been such an excellent surrogate.

His grandfather had been Danish lord before the second world war. Though he had lost much of the power his title provided, he still held much of the family fortune in the form of property. Much of Hans' childhood had been spent on the vast Westergaard estate in Funen, where the grass was sharp, the lakes were still and the wind was cold. His grandfather had taught him horse-riding, shooting, literature and his favourite, music. These were the things true gentlemen needed to know, his grandfather had told him. Which was a pity, since most Westergaard sons had long lost these disciplines.

When he was ten, however, his grandfather's age finally caught up with him. The day outdoors became days trapped in the old man's castle - a gloomy, ancient building that marked some of the darkest days of his childhood. Before the only family that had ever cared for him passed away, his grandfather had called him to his bedside.

"I'm living on borrowed time, my boy," the old man wheezed feebly to him. "I've been waiting this long to find someone deserving of my wealth. And now that I've found him-" his yellowed eyes crinkled at him "-I can rest in peace. Yes, yes-" he reclined back into the velvet pillow, his voice growing weaker and weaker, exhaling sharply "-I can rest."

That night, his grandfather of a hundred and twenty years died, and for the first time, all the sons of Westergaard returned to their homeland. Hans was certain, however, that he was the only amongst them who was actually mourning throughout the funeral.

A few days later, the family was gathered for the reading of the will. Throughout that day, Hans couldn't help feeling smug as he glanced at his siblings. How many of them had snubbed their Danish-speaking grandfather all their lives? How many of them had avoided him in living their snobby Ameripanian homes? It was no wonder his grandfather had promised him his fortune - one that his brothers and even his negligent father would never have.

But when the will was read, it was told that the estate would go to his father, additional holdings split amongst his aunts and uncles, and the fortune itself split unevenly across the old man's thirty-two grandchildren, of which he received the smallest share. He only received a small sum to cover his education fees and an old pocket watch - nothing else.

His brothers mocked him for believing that he would be the prime beneficiary of their grandfather's generosity.

"You poor idiot, Hans," they said to him. "Wasted all your time sucking up to the old fellow, and with nothing to show for it."

He felt hurt and betrayed. How could he not? Hadn't his grandfather cared about him? Hadn't he been promised a fortune? It had taken him many years to realise the type of wealth that his grandfather was really talking about, when he himself was on the edge of death.

It was like that old adage had said - time is money.

"You took your time."

The waitress - a pretty blonde thing - flushed at his chiding. "Sorry. There's a holdup in the kitchen."

He didn't say anything further as she refilled his glass. He had known what it was to be on the receiving end of unreasonable raging. Thanks to his father's iron-fisted upbringing and the limits of his grandfather's provision, he had ever needed to take three part-time jobs to pay off the miscellaneous fees in college. Besides, such speech was unbecoming of a gentleman.

Then again, a gentleman wouldn't be trying to drink himself into oblivion, especially in enemy territory.

As soon as she finished pouring, Hans snatched up the glass and promptly emptied it down his throat. He placed the glass back in front of the waitress meaningfully.

The flustered young thing eyed the emptied glass incredulously, then back at him. He jerked his head at it in confirmation.

"Erm-" the young waitress in the _yukata_ hesitated "-are you sure? I mean, you just-"

"Yes, I'm sure." He rolled his eyes. _Please._ As if he didn't know how to hold his drink, because he usually could. He just got really, really sick after that.

To be honest, he hadn't always been so fond of wine. In fact, in the days of his youth, he had been quite determined to abstain from alcohol all together, for he didn't like the taste and he liked drunkenness even less. But after certain failures, humiliations and sobering life lessons, he had come to find an unhealthy comfort in the daze that a good drink could provide.

He hadn't hit the daze mode yet though, which was why he was waiting for the waitress to refill the glass.

The girl was reluctant, but she did as he asked. As she poured the wine, he allowed his gaze to rest on her. Her hair was gold and her eyes large and green, shiny with nervous anticipation. Yet, she also exuded hope and determination. This was no tired, dreamless sleepwalker, but one who was truly living in the moment - alive and breathing.

He had gotten a similar vibe from Anna. So full of young ambition and excitement, reminding him a little of his younger self. He had left her in the hospital to rest - not that she felt that she needed it. He couldn't wait for tonight to be over. In fact, he was wishing that he could ditch Merida all together and go back to her side. But he had promised Mayor Dunbroch to keep an eye on her daughter, and he wasn't about to lose her favour. One never knew when one would need a powerful friend.

 _Connections. Niceties. Relations._ All the nonsense that he wouldn't need if he had the means to achieve his goal on his own. But he couldn't, because he didn't have the means - meaning that, he didn't have the money. Nor the influence. Nor the power.

Well, he could have those things if he was willing to compromise. Like his father. Like his brothers. Like the rest of his partners and associates in the corrupted _Westergaard & Sons_, who had kneeled and groveled before the crime syndicates of Burgeshima for the last twenty years, and probably wouldn't cease to for the next twenty.

"Is there anything else I can get for you that's _not_ alcoholic?" The young waitress must have been feeling quite uncomfortable in his presence. He had snatched off the bottle from her tray and begun to refill the glass on his own. His hand was getting a little unsteady though, so most of the liquid sloshed onto the table instead. He could feel the girl wincing.

Sighing, he handed the glass bottle back to her, which she snatched back quickly. He then swirled whatever remaining liquid in the glass contemplatively, suddenly having the urge to speak to his frightened companion. "You got anyone?"

"Pardon?" Her eyes widened at him.

"Significant other," he elaborated, sipping briefly. "Someone special at home."

Horror was etched on every inch of her face in response to his question - or was it in response to the notion itself? "Err, no. Not dating. Not married. Not...anything."

"Ever had one?"

"No. I haven't." She was eyeing him with so much suspicion that he wanted to laugh. Poor innocent thing. She must have been trying to decide if he was flirting with her.

"Well, if you ever do, take my advice." Hans set his glass down. "Never believe too much in them. You can love them - trust them even, but just don't-" He caught sight of a slender figure draped in blue across the ballroom and he scowled "-just don't believe too much in them. You'll only be disappointed."

"Oh. O-kay," the waitress stammered as she set her bottle back on her tray. In eagerness that she didn't hide, she scuttled away.

Hans glanced from his deserted table towards the ballroom. Most people were not seated, either helping themselves to the food at the table, chatting with one another around the bar or dancing along with the band. He didn't know where his young redhead charge had gone off to, but he wasn't in the mood to track her down. Merida could take herself - other than that time that she got kidnapped. But here was the heart of the Nightmare Yakuza. No one would harm her here.

He continued to watch from a distance the blonde girl whom he had once regarded with such high esteem. Her gloved hands were folded before her as she was regaled with tales of travels by her father's associates, nodding politely and smiling slightly. She was very beautiful, always had been. He was never in love with her - had been too young to ascertain what love was anyway - but he had admired her greatly. Once.

He used to believe that she was the only innocent dove in the pack of wolves that was Burgeshima society, but he had been wrong. There was no such thing as innocence. Everyone was guilty of something. _Everyone._

Hans emptied his glass sourly. He might live in high society, but he had no illusions that he belonged there.

* * *

"Are you done yet?"

"When I'm done, you'll know!" she hollered through the door as she tore against the fabric. Blasted expensive dresses and their impossible zippers.

Hiro had received a message from his 'contact' about two hours after the party began. It was in a good time too, for her heels had begun punishing her ankles in the form of bone aches and bruises. Both of them had snuck into the toilet - yes, it was suspicious, and anyone who saw them would think so - before she had teleported them to a place where they could change.

That place of course was the summerhouse. She wasn't the happiest about showing someone else a secret location, and one that held such sentimental value to herself, but he needed a place of his own to change and it would be more risky to teleport out of the hotel ballroom, then in, then out again. Besides, maybe there was some kind of hero's code out there that prevented them from splitting on the other's secrets. Maybe.

Finally, Merida freed herself from her pink frilly prison, tearing off the corset and kicking away the blasted heels. She slipped on her body suit, then swung the cloak over her shoulders. Adjusting it and pinning both halves with a brooch, she drew the hood up, tucking away her fountain of curls.

Ready at last, she stepped out the room. Her companion whose real name still escaped her was already garbed in his purple-blue armour, only the helmet still slung to his waist. He was poking the grand piano with his gauntlet covered hand when he noticed her entrance. The minute his eyes fell on her, he jumped back, clutching his chest. _"Ahh!"_

Merida scowled at him from under her hood, approaching the piano. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Jinketsu - thank goodness that she recalled his hero alias - said hastily. Under his breath, he added, "Just that your costume is way creepier in real life then in photos."

Merida sniffed as she went over to the piano, removing the bow and quiver that hidden under its massive lid. Strapping the latter over her shoulder, she turned to him. "Where do we go?"

"We'll have to meet my 'contact' first." The boy tapped on the screen on the back of his left gauntlet. Showing it to her, he explained, "Here's the coordinates. How fast can you-"

"Hold it," she interrupted, eyes glazing at the numbers and colours that had expectedly flooded her vision. "I can't do that."

He was shocked. "What? What do you mean you can't-"

"I can't teleport via coordinates. I'm not a computer," she explained. "I need to see a picture, or know whom I'm looking for."

"Oh." He seemed relieved. Tapping a few times on his arm-band computer-thingy, making some gestures that she didn't understand, he finally showed her a picture of the location. It was at the gardens surrounding the dark castle they saw the morning before. "Is that enough?"

"Yep." She held out her hand to him. "C'mon."

Jinketsu glanced warily at the proffered hand, before sighing and removing the helmet on his belt. When he set it over his head, the translucent visor turned into reflective opaque, making it impossible for her to see to his face. Taking her hand, his voice came out through the filter, "Just give me a warning before you jump, won't you? I almost threw up when you last-"

 _POOMF!_ They were engulfed in blue flame. Gone was the dusty interior of the Dunbroch summerhouse and in its place, the trimmed hedges and stone steps of the castle garden's.

"-did that," finished the boy queasily. He snatched his hand away from the other Super to clutch his stomach.

Behind her hood, the Wisp rolled her glowing eyes. _"Stoap bein' sic a ninny 'n' let's gang."_

He peered at her quizzically as he straightened himself up. "What's wrong with you?"

 _"Whit's wrong wi' me?"_

"You're talking weird," he said, helmet tilting curiously to the side. "Like you've got some kind of accent all of a sudden."

 _"Thes is hoo Ah gab when aam th' wisp. nae a' fowk uses a fancy voice filter."_

"I can barely understand you."

 _"Haud yer weesht…"_

"Seriously though - since I know it's you, is there even a point?"

"Where's your contact?" she slipped back into her normal accent. She supposed that he did make sense in this case.

 _"Greetings, Merida,"_ an unexpected voice suddenly emerged from behind her. Startled, the girl whipped herself around to find herself staring up at Jinketsu's robot friend. His bright red armour seemed to glow in the darkness. _"It is good to see that you have largely recovered from your wounds."_

"Yes," she said slowly, feeling against her shoulder where she had been shot just the night before. By right, the injury shouldn't have been repaired so quickly. But there must have been something special that thing that Jinketsu had used to treat her wound yesterday, because the bleeding had long stopped and the pain was barely noticeable.

"Baymax, don't call her that in costume," she heard the boy hero tell the robot, before swinging to face her. "RONIN is name on the duty, but outside the suit, he's just Baymax to us."

"Ah," was her only answer once she worked out that 'us' referred to the Big Hero 6, and not the two of them. She didn't want the San Fransoykian to think that their team-ups were going to be a norm.

The robot blinked at her, before nodding its small head. _"I apologise, Will-O-Wisp. I shall call you that from now on as long as you are wearing a hooded cape."_

"Great." To Jinketsu, she asked, "So, what's the plan?"

He pressed a button along his gauntlet, projecting a small holographic image for her to see. It was a three-dimensional map, glowing blue with outlined routes and dancing red images. "Earlier on, I hacked into the Nightmare Yakuza's networks to get a comprehensive map of the _shiro_ grounds. RONIN-" jerking his chin towards his robot sidekick "-has been monitoring the heat signatures of the castle. Now has been the lowest registered temperature in the last twelve hours, meaning that the number of guards now are lowest, but we have no idea how long this window will last."

He tapped on one part of the holographic map, enlarging the image so that Merida could see it better. "Over here, on the lower levels, are the 'dungeons'. I suspect that if Hic-um, Knight had been captured by the Yakuza, he would be held in one of these cells."

"Are there booby traps? Alarm systems?" she asked.

"Many, but we can disable them easily if we take over the central security command." He pointed to a small room in the centre of the floor. "I can also find where he's being held from there."

Merida studied the appearance of the location, observing the floating reddish blobs that were specked over the room. "What's that?"

"Heat signatures from the people there," Jinketsu told her. "There are - one, three, six, seven, ten - ten guards there right now. We'll have to move in fast, or they'll call for reinforcements."

"That won't be a problem." She cracked her knuckles, a grin forming under her hood. "You and iRobot focus on taking over the system. I'll handle the rest."

 _"I am Baymax,"_ the robot corrected. _"Or in hero uniform, I am RONIN."_

"It's a reference." She pulled hard on her hood to make sure it fit snugly over her head. To the boy hero, she asked with her hand out, "Ready?"

"Urgh." He groaned as he took her hand, then grabbed the hand of his robot counterpart. "Don't flip, RONIN. Wisp is going to teleport us."

 _"I don't understand. Why would I turn myself upside-down?"_ The robot sounded genuinely puzzled. _"Or is 'flip' perhaps just an expression, just like 'sick', 'awesome-sauce' and 'beat it?'"_

"Yes." Jinketsu sounded quite pleased that the robot had asked this question. "Flip means-"

Having no interest in watching her companion teach colloquial terms to his robot friend, the Wisp chose at that moment to let the flames consume them all, vanishing from the gardens of the castle.

They reappeared in a large grey room full of screens and keyboards. Some uniformed guards were seated behind computers while other were standing and speaking to one another. All froze like statues at the sight of the intruders that had mysteriously appeared before them.

"-go crazy..." the boy finished. Though his helmet obscured his face, Merida was certain that he was glaring at her. "Seriously? No warning?"

One of the guards let out a yell in Japanese, before his colleague and himself whipped out their guns to fire. By then, however, the Wisp was already on the move. Leaving behind her two companions, she vanished into blue flames.

 _Poomf!_ She appeared, kicking the gun out of a guard's hands and punching him in the face. His head was tossed back while his nose went _crack!_

 _Poomf!_ She was at the other end of the room, elbowing another guard in the gut, knocking him sharply in the chin and thrusting in him back into the wall, rendering him unconscious.

 _Poomf!_ She was in the air, firing two arrows in rapid succession. One caught onto the sleeve of a gunman aiming for Jinketsu, throwing off his aim. This gave the boy hero time to fire some kind of immobility bolt at his attacker. The other arrow smashed itself through the phone that one of the guards was reaching for.

 _Poomf!_ The Wisp's foot came slamming down into the face of another guard who was about to call for reinforcements through his commlink. He cried out, attempting to whip out his baton, but she hooked a leg around his neck and yanked him down. He landed back on the ground on the ground while she cartwheeled away, landing safely on her feet. An arrow went into his hand later, pinning him to the floor. He screamed before she slammed her arm into his head, making him slump back.

 _Click!_ She heard a gun cocking behind her. "Stop right there, _akuma_!"

She rolled her eyes.

 _Poomf!_ The Wisp was gone before the bullet could hit her, and instead, there a cloaked figure appeared next to the gun man. Without waiting for him to gawk at her, she jabbed him in the ribs and socked him in the face, twisting the weapon out of his grasp with her other hand. He attempted to punch her, but she dodged it easily. She noted in the corner of her vision another guard running towards her, so grabbing the arms of the gunman near her, _poomf!_ she released him over the head of his collegue. Both cried out before collapsing together in a heap.

 _Poomf!_ She was firing arrows at the fellow at the controls, nailing him against his table and imprisoning him.

 _Poomf!_ She delivered a flying kick into the chest of one gunman while ripping the rifle in his grip.

 _Poomf!_ She smashed the head of another guard with that of the rifleman. It was then she noticed the last mobile and conscious guard running for the exit. Whipping out an arrow, she loaded it and fired. The arrow smashed straight into the controls of the door, much to the horror of the trapped guard.

He turned to face the Wisp, reaching for his gun only to find an arrow stabbed through his palm when he did. Screaming in agony, he suddenly found himself being yanked forward by the collar as glowing blue eyes glared down on him. _"Where th' m'ster control?"_

"Um, Wisp?" the chirpy voice from Jinketsu floated towards her. She whipped herself around, still clutching the unfortunate guard when she noticed the armoured boy and his robot friend standing before one of the computers. "I actually got this."

"Oh," Merida then turned back to face her victim, who had at that point tried to reach for his gun. Instantly, she kneed him in the groin, making him groan in agony. Before he could retaliate, she punched him, knocking him out cold.

She glanced around the control room. All tens guards down. That was easy. Perhaps a little too easy.

"Was that really necessary?" The boy hero was staring at the unconscious guard that she had just released. The arrow wound in his palm was starting to bleed.

The Wisp regarded the scene nonchalantly. "This is considered pretty mild for me."

"Uh-huh." The leader of the Big Hero 6 sounded disapproving. He leaned towards his robot, hissing, "And I thought Knight and Fury were violent."

 _"Perhaps her programming doesn't prevent her from harming other life forms_ ," was the robot's emotionless observation.

"Hey!" She placed her arms on her hips. "I'm not going to be judged by the Iron Giant!"

"You need to take a chill pill," was Jinketsu's snippy reply while his metal laced fingers ran over the keyboard. "And don't call my robot names. It hurts his feelings."

 _"I have no emotions,"_ RONIN said, sounding a little puzzled. _"It is impossible for me to feel 'hurt'. That is, the emotion of being betrayed or sad after an insult."_

"Will you just-" she bit her tongue before she spat out a string of curses at the big red-armoured robot. She doubted RONIN would really mind, but the boy was a bit more sensitive.

"Okay, I'm in," Jinketsu informed her at last. She noticed him draw up his visor to get a better look at the screen. "Disabling defences now."

Marching up to his side, the Wisp watched as he navigated the controls. She didn't understand the slightest of what he was doing because everything on the screen was in _hirogana_. "You can read Japanese?"

"I'm half-Japanese," he murmured, peering at her in amusement. "Of course I can read it."

 _"Jinketsu only has trouble speaking it,"_ RONIN told her pleasantly. _"His accent sounds funny. Tomago has compared it to a squawking chicken."_

"Hey!"

"Found Knight yet?" the Wisp cut in impatiently, feeling quite out of place with nothing to do now. She wasn't used to relying on other people for help.

"Gimme a moment." She watched as his screen flipped between several maps, with squiggles and characters, colour-coded as well. "They've got quite a number of prisoners here. No names though. I'll try to narrow down based on the dates they were brought in."

"Prisoners," she repeated with disgust, eyes rolling over the office and the neutralized guards. The Nightmare King ruled his city like a monarch, complete with a dungeon and torture chamber, no doubt. It was so ridiculously medieval that she would have thought herself in a period drama.

"There. They've received the fellow from this cell yesterday morning." Hiro thumbed a blue-coloured box on the screen. "That's most likely the location of our mutual friend."

"Not mutual," the girl corrected wryly, tugging hard on her hood and stretching her bow. "He's not my friend."

"Right. Hmm." Jinketsu made a face before pressing the side of his helmet, making his visor drop back over his face. "You're not really a people-person, are you?"

"What's your first clue?"

She teleported all three of them into the corridor that led to the cell in question. There were still other guards patrolling the prisons, and while it wasn't impossible to take them out, they decided to err on the side of caution.

As they went down the corridor, Merida noted that the doors were set rather close to one another. How small were these prison cells?

"Here's the one," Jinketsu said, stopping them before a door. He lifted up the screen on his gauntlet towards his face, before pressing a combination of controls, making the metal door raise itself up. A wave of pressurized air came rushing towards them, making Merida cough. A long narrow corridor like cell appeared behind the door. In the dim light, a limp, unmoving figure was spotted, hanging off something. Exchanging silent looks with the boy hero and refusing to do so with his robot, the Wisp sucked in a breath and entered.

Her bow was loaded and raised, though narrow confines didn't give her very much room for movement. Her eyes darted up and down white walls, unable to match the pale shade with the dark castle. She felt a crunching sensation under her feet and her gaze dropped. It appeared that the entire ground was covered with black sand. Strange.

"Wait out here, bud. I don't think you'd fit," she heard the other hero tell the robot, before hearing his steps following her.

When she neared the figure, she could see it much better – thin, limp, a bit bloodied, head drooped and body draped in a robe. Lowering her bow, she bent down slightly to look at the face. Auburn head, button-nose – it was Knight alright, and he was in a bad shape.

"It's him," the Wisp called out to her companion, when she noticed how the prisoner had been chained to the wall, one short chain per limb. Well, for three limbs he still had. She gasped when she noticed the missing left foot.

Hearing the anxiousness in her tone, Jinketsu hurried behind her, trying to see her shoulder. "What's it?"

"They took his left foot." She didn't hide the queasiness in her voice. The Nightmare Yakuza were far more monstrous than she had realized.

"Oh, that's it?" Jinketsu sounded oddly relieved. "Nothing else?"

The Wisp whipped herself around, cape swirling about as she did. "It's his foot!" And he thought she was violent? Yeesh!

 _"What Jinketsu meant was Hiccup's left foot had already been amputated long ago,"_ RONIN supplied helpfully. His large red self stood by the narrow entrance, which was impossible for him to enter.

This information was new to her. She swung back to face the unconscious prisoner with surprise. In the two times that she had battled him, she had never noticed anything about his leg. Albeit, he covered it with his boots, but he hadn't shown that he was favouring his right leg either. She wondered how long had he had it – before or after his superhero career.

Putting aside these thoughts for a while, she examined the chains that were wrapped around his arms and legs. "These are metal. Thick steel," she said at last. "Do you have anything that cut through it?"

"Think I do." She heard him pressing something on his gauntlet. "Can you support his weight though?"

She managed to squeeze herself behind Knight's limp body, hooking her bow behind her. She pulled a face at the thought of having to put herself in close contact with a stranger. Yep, she really wasn't a people-person.

Jinketsu pointed his gauntlets against the top two chain and purple light flashed from them, snapping the metal chains. The limp boy Knight – though he looked much more like a Hiccup in his frail state - fell back into the Wisp, who staggered back slightly in surprise at the weight she was met with. With her own arms hooked under his arms, she finally got a better look at his face. He was a sickly pale, and there were black circles around his closed eyes. Not the ordinary 'panda' eyes from the lack of sleep, though – it was mottled specks of black. She heard a moan escape the lips of the poor lad, but instead of waking, he just shifted slightly in her arms, murmuring incomprehensibly to himself.

She heard Jinketsu burn off the chain that was holding down the boy's remaining leg, hitting her with his full weight. Hiccup didn't wake, but continued to mumble, _"For-eldra, mǫgr, ásjá…"_

"He's mental," she whispered to her companion.

"He's sick," Jinketsu remarked grimly, picking up the other lad by his legs – whatever one and a half he had. "They've done quite a number on him, alright." Jerking his helmeted head behind him, he told her, "Let's move him out to the corridor, then you can teleport all of us plus RONIN, out."

She nodded. Two of them worked together as a human stretcher, moving the half-delirious, half-snoozing lad down the corridor, carefully shuffling themselves down the sand floor. Between the two them, though, the weight was largely bearable.

As they neared the door, Jinketsu said to her, "Is it me, or is this way too easy?"

The second he said it, the door of their prison cell slammed shut, the _'clang!'_ echoing through the rest of the white cell.

The Wisp's glowing blue eyes burned at the helmeted hero. Though she couldn't see his face, his stance was apologetic.

"I'll see contact RONIN to see if he can get us out," he quickly said, lowering gently Hiccup's leg to the ground before pressing the side of his helmet. "Jinketsu to RONIN. Do you read me?" She heard him pause, before repeating, "Jinketsu to RONIN. Do you read me?"

A sudden wave of fear rushed over the girl, surrounding her heart and squeezing it tight. Her chest felt oddly constricted and an unbidden gasp escaped her lips.

"What is it?" the armoured boy asked her.

"I-I-I-I-" she didn't know how to explain to him how she felt, but she had experienced this sensation before – twice, in fact. Both times were very brief compared to the sensation that she felt right now. Both had happened when she was in presence of-

Wait. When did the white wall of the prison cell become black?

"Wisp?" Even through his vocal filter, Jinketsu's fear was undeniable.

She lowered Hiccup's body onto ground, leaving him to his muttering. Unhooking the bow from behind her and setting an arrow in it, the girl squinted hard at the wall and realised that it was in fact now covered with sand.

The boy pointed to the ceiling. "Look!"

She did, and saw lines of black sand crawling above them, covering the remaining white tiles with their grainy bodies, flooding them in darkness.

"I got this." She heard Jinketsu cursing in the back drop and hitting some buttons. A few seconds later, the blackness was pierced by a warm purple glow, emanating from the pads that covered the tech-savvy hero's form. "What the heck was that?"

 _Thump!_

Both their heads whipped around at once, to the darkness that was coming from behind the girl.

 _Thump! Thump!_

"Wisp, can you teleport us outside?"

She could hear him, but for some reason, the words he said weren't registering in her brain. She stared at into the shadows, not knowing what she expected to see but knowing that she wanted to. It was drawing her towards it – to discover it.

"Wisp!" The boy's tone was desperate. He was hitting a couple of buttons on his suit. She could hear him shuffling across the sand and ramming against the door. By the cursing that followed, it wasn't successful. "Focus! We need you to-"

 _THUMP!_ It was louder now.

She stood frozen, bow half raised but wondering if her arrows would be enough.

 _THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!_

"MERIDA!"

Her heart was in her throat, beating in sync with the mysterious pounding, and then suddenly –

A horrifying, earth-shattering roar. One she knew too well.

Her eyes lost their glow as she gaped in horror.

Squeezed in the narrow cell with her and the two boys was a giant, black bear. Its massive black form towered over her. Its fangs were dripping with something – she didn't dare imagine what. One of its eyes were yellow, while the other was sealed shut due to a wound.

 _No._ It couldn't be. He was still in prison. She had seen to it herself. He was-

The bear let out another ferociously snarl before charging towards her. She fired the arrow, but it just bounced off his fur. She scrambled for one of the Salem's Teeth arrows, for _anything_ , but before for she could, the black mass had leapt onto her, pinning her down. In the background, she could hear Jinketsu's panicked yelp, but it was drowned out by the sound of her own thrumming heart.

* * *

"Care for a dance, Mr. _Ryes_?" she said, narrowing her eyes while uttering his false name.

He smiled up the beautiful blonde woman. Sending a _'see?-told-you-so'_ look to Tooth, the handsome white-haired man rose from his seat and took up her arm.

In the centre of ballroom, several pairs had already begun to twirl around in circular fashion. The band at the stage played with much gusto and their three-four tempo was an easy one to fall into.

He was never much of a dancer. The only reason he picked it up was because he had to accompany to Tooth to her school prom, only to discover that school prom didn't require such formal dancing methods and that his effort had been a waste. As it happened, the muscle-memory from all that practice was still useful nonetheless in helping keep up with the graceful manoeuvres of his lovely, dangerous dance partner.

"I thought you were captured," she murmured to him at last after two minutes of silence. Straight to the point. Excellent.

"Thank you for your concern," he quipped lightly in turn, though there was a touch of ire in his tone. "I didn't think that my imposter would care what happened to me."

"I do have a conscience," was her answer, defensive. "And I borrowed your identity only because I needed to."

"You needed to?" he echoed her, raising his brow slightly.

Glancing over her shoulder, possibly checking to see if they were being watched, she then hissed, "You know who my father is now. Pretending to be you was the best option I had!"

"Well, guess what? Your little pretend games have consequences," he hissed back. He shot a hastily look behind himself, searching for Pitch. He appeared to be occupied in speaking to some of his guards. "Do you know who the fellows who dragged me off were?"

She sighed, and shook her head.

"The NSA," he murmured quietly. "Ever heard of them?"

He could feel her stiffen beside him, though she continued to swirl across the marble floor with continued grace. "Government agents?"

"They're not after your father, if that's what you're worried about." He made plain his disgust when talking about Pitch. "They're after Jack Frost, a cryokinetic fugitive that made a hotel collapse. The name might be familiar to you." The song slowed, so he slowed them too accordingly, just in time for him to whisper in her ear, "Black Raven."

Her face was blank, but he could feel the gloved hand in his grasp trembling.

"You were there too." It wasn't a question.

"Don't you dare assume anything about me," she growled lowly at him, sapphire eyes blazing.

But Jack was undaunted. "I wasn't the one who made the hotel collapse. My powers don't work that way. But from what I saw yesterday, yours fit the bill."

She tore her gaze from him, her lips pursed together.

He glanced her over. She was much younger under the mask than he had expected. How old could she have been at the time? "Look," he murmured in a softer tone. "You were probably a kid then. They'd be way more forgiving to you than they are to me."

"Is that what you think?" Her voice was harsh, face contorted with distrust and fear. "You're insane if you'd think they'd let me off."

"They would if you explained it to them," he insisted.

"You don't get it, do you? They're _afraid_ of people like us," she shot back, blue eyes lighting up like flames as she did. "If they knew about me, do you think they won't pursue me, like how they do for you? They'd lock me up. Experiment on me. Turn me into a weapon!"

He gazed down at her, not sure if he should feel pity, or detestation. "So-" thick with revulsion "-you're just going to let me take the blame for your mistakes?"

There was a flash of guilt, before her expression turned cold. "Not all of us are heroes."

Before he could rebut that, an attendant dressed in a yukata approached the blonde woman. The Nightmare King's daughter listened patiently, before turning to him. "I need to go."

"Of course," he answered, politely letting go of her freezing hand and her waist. Silent, knowing looks were exchanged, before the slender young woman was guided away by the humble attendant.

The young alien stared after her, pursing his lip, before swinging sharply around. He would have to discuss with Tooth the latest development.

* * *

"Your date has left you, Dr. Kadni?"

"Oh." Tooth straightened herself up at once, tearing her eyes away from Jack. She had been watching him dance with the girl that she suspected to be his imposter – well, it was pretty much confirmed by now – and the last thing she wanted was for Pitch notice where her attention had been. "I suppose he has."

"Hmm." The Nighmare King didn't hide his dislike of her companion. He never liked the original Jack Frost, so it was hardly a surprise that he didn't like a disguised version of him either. "Well, if you are not presently occupied, perhaps I could interest you in a dance?"

That took her aback. She gawked towards the open floor where brilliantly dressed couples swept across the tiles, where the violins wept and the cellos moaned a waltz by Schubert. She turned back to Pitch, who was eyeing her oddly. _Did he suspect? Did he realize?_

"Of course," Tooth answered at last, smiling with confidence that she didn't feel. One didn't deny the Nightmare King.

Taking his skeleton of a hand with her own gold-adorned one, she was led out to the floor. Immediately, a space was cleared for them – or rather, for _him_ \- and they took their places amongst the other pairs. She concealed her grimace when his hand fell onto her waist.

"It's the first time you've been to such a gala, isn't it, doctor?" was what he said to her as they began to move across the glossy dark floor.

She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. Stirring in her was a whirlpool of emotions – hatred, disgust, anxiousness and fear. The last of the emotions she was quick to quash, laying it over

If he noticed her discomfort, by observation or through his abilities, Pitch didn't mention it. He went on to inquire, "How do you find it?"

"Well, it's all very-" Tooth searched for adjective that wasn't negative, but not untrue "-grand."

"It is, isn't it?" he said with a measure of pride. Of course he would. He commissioned the building of this hotel. "The ballroom has always been my favourite out of all the rooms here. It feels as if one has just stepped out into the galaxy, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does."

"I was not much into astronomy, in the past. My eyes never needed to look to galaxies above when the Earth itself was all that mattered." His gold-flecked eyes flicked up towards the crystal ceiling, to the black void that was the sky. His voice was quiet, contemplative, and her telepathy picked up hints of regret and anger. "I was wrong about that, of course."

"Well, I guess there are somethings that one could never get into, I suppose," Tooth gushed, hoping to quickly move his thoughts away from outer space and what had arrived from it. "For instance, I've always been into dentistry. I've very little interest in anything else."

"Really?" Pitch cocked a brow at her. The gesture was not mocking or sceptical, but amused. "I understood that you're a career woman, Doctor, but I never would have imagined a woman like you talented only in one thing."

"Oh?" She tried to sound curious, but inside her, she was shaking. Was he probing her? How much did he know?

"You strike me as what they call – what is that term-" his forehead creased "- a superwoman?"

All the colour in her face was drained instantaneously. _He knew._ He had to. But … _how?_ Her eyes searched anxiously in the throng. Where was Jack? They needed to leave. _Now!_

"That, meaning a woman who takes on many commitments, like family, while pursuing a successful career," Pitch went on to explain. His manner was careless, not threatening at all. "You have two children in your care presently, don't you?"

She relaxed, relieved that the alarm was a false one. "Yes. Fostered."

"Yes, the Bennett children. The death of their parents was very, very unfortunate," he murmured in a way that indicated how little he honestly cared. "It was kind of you take them in."

"Thank-" she began.

But he interrupted. "You are quite maternal in character, are you not?"

She hesitated, unsure where this might be leading. "Yes, I suppose. It comes with being a mother myself, I imagine."

"Not always," the Nightmare King disagreed, seeming a little distracted by the notion. "It is much harder for some." But he snapped out of it soon enough, flashing her uneven smile. "Might I ask you a question, Doctor? I do ask you to forgive in advance though, for it might sound rather odd."

Tooth inclined her head to indicate that he could. She couldn't refuse him, anyway.

"Have we, well - have we met before?"

She let out a light laugh. "I believe we met quite a few times before. The last time we saw each other was just this morning, _Kumicho_ -sama."

"Pitch," he corrected her as she twirled under his arm. "And I do not mean that. I mean, long before – perhaps even before I was even was, well-"

Before he was even _Pitch Black_.

She knew very well what he meant. But Dr. Nithya Kadni wasn't supposed to know that, and she couldn't let him know how she knew. But she was a fool to think she could hang around him this long without him having the slightest notion that of her alternate identity.

He had noticed her silence and was watching her expectantly. She would have to say something soon.

Fortunately, or perhaps not, a voice rang out, "Might I cut in?"

It seemed her knight in shining armour with snow-white hair had returned.

"You seem to the remarkable ability of doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, Mr. Ryes," Pitch murmured, eyes flashing a warning.

In her mind, Tooth prayed that Jack would have the common sense to back down. She might have well have wished for the moon.

"You seem to have the remarkable ability of being really creepy," was Jack's answer as he unsubtly removed Pitch's hands from her and dragged away. "See you around, _Kumicho-sama_."

As he moved them to the other end of the dance floor, she did her best to look cross. "Are you trying to provoke him?"

He didn't even have decency to look guilty. "Maybe."

 _"Jack."_

"What?" He put on an innocent expression as he began to guide her slowly along the dance floor along with the others. "He's like – what – twice your age? He's totally creepy."

"Well, yes, but you don't tell him that."

Jack snorted as he adjusted their movements to the music. He didn't seem to be in a good temper at the moment, so she could only assume that his confrontation with Pitch's blonde daughter didn't go well. In a quiet voice, she asked him, "What happened?"

"She said no. Now I'm thinking of whether I should kidnap her or blackmail her."

She deadpanned at him.

"I'm kidding," he said quickly. Then under his breath – "Mostly."

"Well, try to think of a more ethical plan," Tooth hissed at him. "And soon."

"I know." He rolled his eyes. "I've got maybe forty hours before the NSA arrests me for good."

"Not just that." She pulled him closer to her. To anyone else, it might just appear to be intimate gesture – that she simply wanted her partner nearer to her – but it was an action done out of fear and trembling. "I think he's starting to remember."

Jack's back to seriousness now. He glanced towards their old archenemy across the ballroom. One of his minions had cornered him for a chat. Pitch however paid the fool no mind and he was staring very intently at the both of them. The boy swung back to her, tone accusing. "What did you say to him?"

"Excuse me!" She was indignant. "I wasn't the one who's been consistently irritating him." Letting out a huff, her voice softened, sobered."Jack, for goodness' sake, if he finds out now, it could ruin everything. We need something to throw him off." She didn't tell what exactly he would be ruining, because if he knew, he'd stop her. She simply hoped that he'd assume she meant her career and her daughter.

He frowned as he gazed over to her, lips pursed. Then suddenly, his face lit up. "Got it!"

"Got what?" Tooth was perplexed.

"Just don't move," he told her.

And that was all the warning she got before he kissed her.

It wasn't a peck on the cheek, or a kiss on the forehead. It was an actual kiss on the lips.

When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed crimson. Suddenly she felt sixteen again, primped up in her best dress, uncertain and nervous just as she had been when he had taken her to Prom all those years ago.

Not that Jack had noticed – his head immediately twisted back into the direction where Pitch was. His lips, that had just been pressed against hers seconds ago, stretched themselves into a victorious grin. "Nailed it."

She followed the path of his gaze and found that true enough, Pitch had lost interest in the two of them, only glancing at them once with a perplexed expression, before allowing one of his attendants to lead him away.

"Well, I doubt he's going to believe that we're 'just friends' anymore," he remarked, obviously delighting in the _Kumicho's_ discomfort, "but hey, it works out in our favour." It's only then that he realised that she was staring up at him. His manner turned apologetic. "Oh, right. Sorry. That was weird, wasn't it?"

Her violet eyes search him anxiously, for any indication that the gesture had been a smidgen more than a farce.

She didn't find it. And then the feeling of being sixteen, except instead of being flustered and excited, it returned back to the part at the end – the disappointment.

Because the kiss had meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Tooth? What's wrong?" he sounded genuinely concerned. Of course, he was. She was still his best friend. "I haven't traumatised you for life, have I?"

It was stupid, really. She was a divorced woman of forty-six with a teenage daughter and still in love with her childhood friend, who was an alien ice-boy who couldn't age and, more importantly, could never return her feelings.

"Tooth?"

She tore away from him, because right now her emotions were a mess. She had done her best to lock her feelings up for him, because she had sworn that she would, for his sake, and for the world. She pushed her way out of the door floor, back to the dining tables where she hoped was not suffocating her like the dancefloor. It didn't help in the slightest.

"Tooth?" He sounded really worried, hurt even. He didn't know what was happening, because he couldn't. And she wasn't supposed to tell him.

But she was also running out of time. They'd always planned on telling him one day – at least, that's what they agreed amongst themselves. But then the Anti-hero Act happened, the Guardians were sent underground and now he was technically a fugitive. If she did what she was planning to do tonight, she was unlikely to have another chance. Could she really go without letting him have what he wanted the most?

She let him catch up with her, which also happened to be at a particular spot in the ballroom which was largely void of people. "Tooth?"

"There's something I need to tell you," the words spilled from her lips. She didn't quite manage to look him in the eye – didn't want to, in fact. "I'm not supposed to, though, but you need to know."

He was confused, and also a little annoyed. "I don't think now's the best time-"

"You don't understand." Tooth hesitated now. She knew that if she told him, she risked shattering everything that they had over the last thirty-two years. He could hate her – he _would_ hate. "You didn't forget anything."

Jack's intrigued, but her words probably didn't make any sense. "I didn't forget …what?"

"Your past. You never forgot it."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I-" she was interrupted by the ringing of a gong. For some reason, this leads to the music ceasing. Everyone who was at the buffet table and at the dance floor made their way back to their seats, shuffling past the duo. They were no longer alone.

"Tooth." He clasped her hand in his, not caring that there were now people who could overhear them. He repeated himself, "What do you mean?"

All her courage was gone and her shoulders were slumped. "Let's just go back to our seats."

He wasn't satisfied with her answer and she didn't doubt he would ask again at the first opportunity. If such arose, she would have to tell him. But she certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

All the guests in the hall took their seats so efficiently, even those that she had been certain were half- inebriated. She herself was seated, but not at a table as most of them were, but by the stage. She had changed out of her other dress into a new one – a turquoise gown with sparkling, translucent white train, complete with white sleeves and gloves. Her braid dangled by the side of her head instead of the usual bun. The master of ceremonies was at the podium now, telling the remnants stragglers to get back to their seats. Eventually, when everyone was settled down, he started to greet them in a mix of both English and Japanese and that's when her attention started to wander.

Ever since her father took her in, she had attended these galas. For all the hype made about them, there was nothing really that set this party apart from all the others that she had to attend. It was full of rich snobs hobnobbing together, occasionally cloying for her father's attention and, by association, her favour. Her father held it mostly as an obligatory 'thank you' to his generous contributors that have helped line his pockets and loyal supporters that had expanded his reach across the country. It was like any ordinary company gala – except that it was built on the backs of innocents and the blood of good, upright people.

The only part that her father really enjoyed was the part where he got to make his speech. He loved that, because he got to gloat over his growing power and his ever increasing wealth.

Now the master of ceremonies had invited her father up for that and the room exploded in applause. Elsa allowed her eyes to roam over the crowd and wondered how many of them truly respected her father – how many of them, when put to the test, would prove loyal. True Nightmares that had been reared by the Yakuza, she had no doubt that they would die for her father in a heartbeat – hadn't all her guards sacrificed themselves to protect her from an unbeatable assassin? But these people, rolling in diamonds and pearls, in oil and gas, whose very wealth they owed to her father – they too were drunk on power. Push comes to shove, they would save their own hide first. She watched as her father swept onto the stage. He too had changed, but into one of his black _kimono_ that made him look like a walking embodiment of the darknes itself. He took his place behind the podium the way a king would take a seat on his throne – grand, untouchable and impermeable. Didn't he realise how weak the foundation of his power was?

"Thank you, thank you," he said once he arrived at the podium, allowing the applause to die down. "It gives me great pleasure to host you all here tonight." He paused at that moment, making her wonder if he had forgotten his speech. She knew that it had been drafted for him some weeks back, but knowing her father, he'd probably threw away the cards and declared that he had it all memorised. Elsa sighed. He was really stubborn like that.

"The Nightmare Yakuza," her father was saying, "by age, is an old Yakuza. It has been around for the longest time, but only in the last twenty years had it been allowed to flourish. That was, once those meddling Guardians were finally thrown out." That part earned a good deal of cheers from the crowd, whose own illegal proceedings had been cut during the period.

Elsa's eyes however searched out for the boy that she knew once been a Guardian. While his face and hair were disguised, his dark expression was not.

Her father's disparagement however did not stop them. "For years, our glorious country had been plagued by so many of those so-called 'heroes' that sought to impose their will upon us. They were foreigners. Strangers. _Aliens_ -" That earned an agreeing hoot "-that pretended that they were doing us a favour by ruling over us. They didn't understand us." His tone was so full of mockery and hate. "They didn't know our pains or our sorrows. They didn't care that we were starving or grieving – they just cared about 'saving the day'." The irony of his statements certainly escaped the crowd, but it did not escape her.

Her father went on, "Do you know, my good associates, that this hotel was built on the ruins of another hotel?"

The crowd broke out into murmurs of surprise and even she blinked. She had been here a few times and had never learned of this.

"You might have heard of an infamous disaster that had occurred, though you might not realised it was here. Here," her father jabbed a finger towards the ground for emphasis "-a hotel containing dozens of innocent people were collapsed, thanks to the carelessness of one super."

Her entire face paled. _No_ , it couldn't be. Her eyes flitted all over the ballroom, the shiny tiles to the golden drapes and she shook her head. It couldn't be. This couldn't be the very place that she had –

"Some of us in this room knew people who had perished in the Black Raven Hotel," her father went on, putting a posture of grief. She heard a sudden sob in the ballroom, and some heads were bowed as well. "Some of us lost businesses and livelihoods then too, thanks to the devastation caused by that foolish super."

She knew that he wasn't going to blame her here. No, he would veer it towards the Guardians – towards Jack Frost. But it didn't stop her from feeling the guilt, because she knew the truth.

She raised her head, finding the boy ex-hero in the crowd. His mouth pressed into a thin line and he was clenching his fists. As much as she feared confession, she knew it was wrong to let him take the blame. He didn't deserve to be hunted his entire life all because he happened to be on site and was the easiest target for grieving families. He didn't deserve to live with a ruined reputation just because of her mistakes.

But she was afraid – so very afraid. How people look at her if they discovered her horrifying powers? Would she ever get to live free again? She would be trapped – _like him_.

He was right. She was selfish.

"We have rebuilt from this," her father declared triumphantly. "From rubble, the Nightmare Yakuza built a better hotel – one of the finest in the entire state." This was met with applause and hoots. "We rebuild from the mistakes of those who had once ruled our world. We are the _true_ heroes of this city!"

People shot up from their seats, clapping over and over, shouting victory and praise. As not to stand out, she rose from her seat, making a show of doing the same. Her eyes however flitted back to Jack Frost. He remained glued to the seat, disgust written on every inch of his face.

"Elsa." Her father's hand was raised towards her. She went towards him, taking his hand as she ascended the stage. When she was much younger, she used to get stage-fright. He had beaten the fear of her in his usual fashion and while she had hated the process, she admitted that it was effective.

He moved slightly to the side so that she too could bathed in the spotlight. "My daughter," he told to the crowd, "was herself a victim of these tragic events."

 _Lies_ , she knew, but she didn't speak, letting him do it. It wasn't wrong if she didn't say them herself, right?

"She had been such a frightened child then, so traumatised by all that had occurred," he said with an air of tragedy. "Yet, here before you stands the most beautiful, the most talented, the most brilliant woman I've ever known." Her eyes widened in surprise. Was it true, or more lies that he wove in his tangled web of half-truths? "It's my own honour to introduce her as tonight's entertainment as she plays for you Beethoven's Symphony No. 9, Movement 4. Originally written for orchestra and transcripted by Franz Liszt for piano, she presents her personal variant."

At that, she bowed to the crowd, who was seemed unable to tire of clapping. Her father led her over to the grand piano now stood centre of the stage instead of the band. His eyes seemed to be shining as he let her settle onto the stool. Could it be of pride?

Of course, he would regard her with pride. She was his finest achievement. A liar and a pretender.

She waited for him to move off the stage and back to his own seat. Gazing down at the keys, she removed her gloves and laid them on top of the piano. She allowed herself a glance at the crowd, and she noticed how the eyes of her male cryokinetic counterpart pierced her. There was a mixture of anger in them, wariness too, and also …guilt?

Had he wondered then what would have happened if he had rescued her, instead of her father? She had, many times.

If he had, she would have returned back to her family, where they would have been still fearful of her powers but glad to know that she was alive. That said, Anna would grow up with a sister that was alive, but wasn't around often enough to prove it. That life would be worse than her current one.

Or … maybe not. Maybe the alien hero could have mentored her. With their powers so closely matched, why not? He would have been a kinder teacher than her father, more patient and more caring. He would have taught her to believe in the ideals that he did, that powers were meant as gifts and that she was supposed to use them to help people.

But fate, or God, had ordained that it would be the Nightmare King who would be her saviour, and not the ice boy from outer space. So she poised her fingers over the keys, inhaled deeply and began to play.

* * *

Now that everyone's stuck to their seats, he could get a better look at them.

Well, everyone meaning the filthy-rich guests, at least. The waiters were all still milling around, refilling drinks during the performance. Having watched a few of Elsa's performances before, he was guessing that it might last ten minutes. Possibly twenty.

That gave Eugene some time to survey the population. Back in the day when he was still a street kid, he would do this at the train station or a bus stop; assess people based on their clothes, their body language, where their attention was, and from there determine who would become his pickpocketing target of the day. Now, he was seeking out a target once again, but for different reasons.

He had never played for the good guys before. In fact, even when he was under the Nightmare Yakuza, his primary team was still Team Flynn. It was always his agenda, his way and his goals. Even now, not much had really changed. He was still driven very much to benefit himself, though he did owe the girl after all the trouble he put her through.

He had to admit that she puzzled him. All his life, he had never met an honest person. Not that that's surprising – he had surrounded himself with crooks and thieves. Elsa always hid things and he was pretty sure that half the things out of her mouth weren't true, even if she meant well. Tooth, his long-suffering 'mother', had sold him out to the Yakuza, though that might not have been intentional. Even young Jamie Bennett, the only person that he might ever consider as an _'ototo'_ , spewed falsehoods with a perfectly straight face. Everywhere he turned, there was no he could fully trust, because everyone was capable of betrayal.

The same suspicion ought to be placed onto the young heroine from Korobe, but for some reason, he didn't. Maybe it was how ridiculously cartoon-cheesy she was, so cloyingly plastic and unnatural. Maybe it was how also ridiculously sincere and generous she was at the same time. I mean, he did try to kill her, and she offered to help him start a new life out of Burgeshima. What's up with that?

She was weird, with her weird glowing hair, her weird light powers and now her weird healing … thing.

The thing was, most of his life had been gritty, dark and purposeless. He could do with a little weird.

Perhaps that was why he decided to actually help her on her crazy mission, provided that her assumptions were right and 13 really was going to attack this place.

 _13._ He still had mixed feelings about the vigilante. He had admired the mask fellow for his brutal _modulus operandi_. Most of his punishments were appropriate to criminals of the city, but it was admittedly disconcerting at the lengths that the vigilante was willing to go to achieve his goal. Also, knowing that 13 had at some point of time manipulated him (he refused to think it was some kind of voodoo possession thing because that stuff didn't exists) did not put him in favourable light. Flynn was a proud guy, but not too proud to admit that his support for the vigilante was illogical since in 13's eyes, he was condemnable as any other crook.

Maybe that was the appeal of Solaris. She dished out second chances like spare change.

The hammering keys of the piano were swapped for a more peaceful moderato and Flynn continued to clear out the dishes on the table. It was a good thing the girl fixed his arm when she did, because he wouldn't be able play much of a waiter with a broken arm. That, and he was sure that his arm would have given himself away to his old gangmates. He had every intention of leaving this place – this _city_ \- alive.

But he would help her first. They shook on it. Usually, he'd be inclined to make a dash for it now, but something about her made him stay. Solaris wasn't kidding about the deal – he knew that – but that wasn't why he bothered about that. No, he just didn't like knowing that he left the weird girl to face the scary vigilante all on her own.

So he would find the scary vigilante first. She told him that if anyone could, it'd be him. It did kind of make sense. After all, his admiration for 13 led him to keeping track all his works over the last two years, and that's what gave him an advantage now.

Flynn swept his eyes over the ballroom. Its theme was of the cosmos, of the galaxy and its infiniteness. It was a reflection of the Nightmare King's egotistic beliefs, that he was all powerful and unbeatable – the very thing that 13 will attempt to prove wrong. 13 himself of course had an ego, and that ego would drive him to kill in his usual fashion; using unlucky symbols.

What was thing that girl had found? ' _For the Great Stallion shall be undone by its own Horseshoe.'_

Horseshoes. People put horseshoes on their doors for good luck, with ends pointing up to 'catch' good luck. Turn it the other way, and you poured out the luck. A.k.a. -bad luck.

Moving around slowly, he continued to gather up the dishes from the tables, stacking them neatly on his tray. He examined the ballroom – the curtains, the tablecloths, the drapes, the chandelier – any place that one might hide an inverted horseshoe. He thought back to that the magazine that he had handed to Solaris – could 13 have a hidden a clue there? He'd best go and look at it.

After depositing all the dirtied dishes back in the kitchen and grabbing a wine bottle for legitimacy, Flynn returned back to the ballroom, but not to the tables. He instead went to the corner table where all the Yakuza magazines were stacked up, waiting to be distributed to the masses. It was tradition to have a special edition for the gala, though the content was more or less the same as the other propagandas mags – lies, half-truths and alternative facts. He slipped one behind him when the counter lady wasn't looking and moved to a deserted corner to flip through it. Other than the page with strange markings, nothing else was out of place.

He could hear the piano moving into a quieter segment of the piece, to the famous 'Ode to Joy' segment that everyone knew. Of course, Elsa, being the little piano virtuoso she was, had added a whole tonne of musical decorations to it, making it sound a good deal more complicated than it was supposed to be.

It was very rousing, though there was something a bit off about it. Flynn couldn't put his finger on it.

"She's getting sloppy."

Flynn's head jerked up and he quickly hid the magazine behind him once again. Only guests were supposed to be reading it, like the one who was currently talking to him.

He was redheaded fellow with sideburns, cupping an empty glass and leaning against the wall. Why he wasn't seated with the other guests, Flynn didn't know, but he was undoubtedly drunk. Well, he smelled it, at least. His speech was surprisingly coherent.

The man held the empty glass to him, which made Flynn remember that he was supposed to be a waiter. So he took the wine bottle off his tray and filled the glass obligingly. The intoxicated fellow promptly downed the whole drink, before scowling towards the performance stage.

His voice was low, as if he was talking more to himself than to Flynn, "Either that, or that piano is freakin' out of tune. I do hope it's the former though." The redheaded man snorted. "We used to be play a duet version of it together. With a song like that though, I shouldn't be surprised with how we ended up."

If he were any other waiter, he would have fled by now. But Flynn's experience with the scum of society had taught him that a drunken man could be a treasure cove of information. "Really?" he murmured in mild curiosity, but not too much as not to arouse suspicion. "Why does the song matter?"

"It's Beethoven's Ninth Symphony."

Flynn just stared blankly at him.

The redhead sighed at him, before drawling out scornfully, "It's the last symphony that Beethoven wrote before he died. Since then, classical composers believed that the ninth symphony was cursed. They would either die after writing their ninth, or before they finished their tenth. Playing it together couldn't have led to anything good."

The drunk let out a self-mocking chuckle, peering at his glass. "I must really be plastered if superstition's become appealing." The redheaded man dropped the emptied cup onto Flynn's tray, announcing quite matter-factly, "I will now go and throw up my guts. Excuse me."

Flynn smartly stepped aside for the inebriated fellow, letting him pass by. He didn't want the guy's vomit on him if he could help it.

A cursed symphony, eh? That sounded right up 13's alley. But what would he do with it?

The thief frowned, as he returned to the ballroom tables, refilling the empty glass of the seated guests. He needed to keep up appearances even while he was thinking.

' _For the Great Stallion shall be undone by its own Horseshoe.'_

What was a horseshoe? Why on Earth did horses wear horseshoes? Flynn didn't know that much about horse riding or horses themselves, but he was pretty sure wild horses didn't wear them. It was a human invention, probably for posterity and decoration.

It was a luxury. A 'nice-to-have', but scarcely a necessity.

So what did Pitch Black have that was 'nice-to-have', but _not_ a necessity?

A whole lot of money? A hoard of followers? A docile, devoted daughter with ice-powers?

A love for sophisticated music?

He pulled a face. So… _the Great Stallion shall be undone by his love for classy piano tunes_. A bit of downer, wasn't that?

Wait. Something was prodding him at the back of his mind – something that the drunken guy said. Well, the drunken guy said a lot of stuff, but one of those facts was important. It was something that he had noticed too, but hadn't been able to place.

 _"She's sloppy. Either that, or that piano is freakin' out of tune."_

The Elsa he knew was never sloppy, especially in music. She practiced according to a vicious regime for hours until the errors were smoothed out. So the fault had to be in the piano, but the people who had moved the piano onto the stage would have been extremely careful. If they broke any part of the piano and caused it to go out of tune, the _Kumicho_ would punish them severely.

So if it had been damaged, it would have been after it was moved onto the stage. A deliberate sabotage, rather than an accident.

But making a piano slightly out of tune – just slightly, because it wasn't that noticeable – was hardly a method of revenge, unless being out of tune was merely a symptom of the problem, not the cause.

He needed to examine that piano.

Well, it was a tad hard to do that, considering it was on the stage, it was being played and everyone in the ballroom was staring at it. He couldn't just walk up there now – he'd be seen. He needed a distraction.

Where was that photokinetic weirdo when he needed her?

Apparently, she was busy bringing out refreshments from the kitchen, balancing trays on her two shoulders. He groaned. He wondered if in her distraction to maintain their disguises that she forgot their real purpose.

He subtly slipped behind her, hissing, "Blondie!"

She turned around, as he expected, frowning – but hey, she still reacted. She moved away from the tables and the guests so that they wouldn't be heard.

He ignored the disapproval that she was radiating. "There's no time to explain, but I have an idea. Before I can confirm it though, I need you to blackout _that_ spotlight." He pointed to the one that shining down onto the stage.

She shot a wary look at him.

"Look, if you want to stop 13, you have to trust me," he insisted. There was no reason why she should, really, but hey, she asked for his help.

Her expression was conflicted but eventually she made her choice. Thrusting her two trays into his hands and not caring that they were almost tipping over, she let her sleeves fall back slightly. He could see the sleeves of her spandex costume and lamented her choice of colour. She didn't mind his appraisal of her fashion taste, choosing to raise a hand towards that spotlight.

Suddenly, the light was gone, fizzing out in a bolt of electricity and lamp exploded. The crowd gasped at the expected sound and even the pianist herself ceased her playing as the ballroom was flooded with unexpected darkness.

Flynn dumped the trays on one of the table, dashing past the tables as his pupils adjusted to moon's illumination. He could hear light footsteps coming from behind him as his blonde companion hurried behind. She still didn't know what he was doing, but she did trust him – as horrible as that decision was.

In the confusion, he was barely noticed as he clambered up the stage. Except by the pianist herself, who was puzzled by unexpected intruder to her performance space. Even in disguise and the dim-lighting, she recognised him. "Flynn?"

He didn't answer her, trusting that their childhood friendship would be enough to keep her mum. He went straight for the piano, looking underneath it. It occurred to him that he might not know enough about musical instruments know if something's been tampered with. He should have thought this through.

"Flynn?" this was one came from Solaris. She had followed him up the stage and sounded nervous. Of course she was – he was probably going to blow their cover.

The house lights of the ballroom were coming on now. The minute the attention went back to the stage, they were dead. Well, he was, at least. The blonde hero from Korobe had a better chance of escaping.

He peered behind the music rack, shoving the musician out of the way as he did and earning a glare from her. He moved around the piano and looked into the case under the giant lid.

"Flynn?" Solaris was tugging at his sleeve, anxiety heightened. The whole ballroom was lit now. Everyone could see them.

The improved lighting however also meant that he now spotted the odd-one out of the picture. He raised the small, glossy box that was resting on the strings inside the piano - the small, glossy box with flickering numbers that read, _0:00:07_ , then, _0:00:06,_ then, _0:00:05_ , and so forth.

"Oh dear," he heard the blonde heroine next to him say. The curse he uttered was much far worse.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **Let me address the elephant in the room first…**

" _ **Oh my goodness. EWWW! There was a kiss here that wasn't Jelsa! Why have you betrayed me, author? Why? WHY? I CHALLENGE YOU TO AN AGNI KAI!"**_

 **Well, it's a very small part in a very long story and it probably won't happen again (except in flashbacks). Besides, it's clearly one-sided. If you could put up with a past!bitter!Helsa, you can put up with this. I believe in you.**

 **That being said, there's a part of me that likes Rainbow Snowcone – but only in human AUs. If it's canonical, I think the relationship would be really weird.**

 **Now, that that's out of the way…**

 **This chapter is ridiculously long.**

 **I apologise for all the times I have misspelled 'yukata'. I keep wanting to write 'yakuta', which is a girl name.**

 **For some reason, Hans is largely a drunkard in this chapter.**

 **I'm starting to ship Hiro and Merida. If the Big Hero 6 TV series doesn't give him a canonical love interest, there's nothing stopping me. Except, you know, common sense. Okay, I'm kidding. Sort of.**

 **Originally, when I planned this, it was Jack who would discover the bomb, but I figured Flynn needed something to do. Anyway, takes a criminal to work out another criminal – cough –vigilante.**

 **Up Next: More backstory, action (maybe), angst (yay!).**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **What's up?**

 **School's back. Not looking the most forward to it, but I suppose some logical part of me is grateful that I can get an education. God's good.**

 **Guest Mailbox Review:**

 **Guest1 (Jul 4): Greetings and thanks for your review. I'm glad to know that you've enjoyed it and I've been anticipating this 'coming together' moment. My sources of inspiration for this story were actually superhero comic books (Teen Titans, Blue Beetle) and TV shows (Young Justice), and the Disney movies themselves (** _ **Brave**_ **could have been a great killer thriller …sigh). For the Japanese elements, I had to do extra research, like reading websites and watching documentaries on YouTube. If you want to do a fiction with gangs, watch documentaries about Mafias, Yakuzas or whatever type you're going for.**

 **Reviews would be nice, but again, I won't die if you don't. I'm more likely to…disappear for another three years. Yeah. Kay, toodles~~~~~**

 **Who invented that word? 'Toodles'? 'TOODLES'?**

 **I need to go back and write some weird stories with helpless self-aware characters. When the next April Fools Day?**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**


	30. Chpt 29: Sweet Dreams are Made of This

Chapter 29: Sweet Dreams Are Made of This - The Gala Part 3

A businessman walked into a bar.

Oh, to clarify; this isn't one of those 'dude-walks-into-a-bar' jokes. Just thought I should mention that.

Soooo, where was I? Ah, got it.

A businessman walked into a bar.

He bought a drink, the fanciest that a shady, stinky place like this could provide, and settled on the stool by the counter. He appraised his surroundings as he sipped on his beverage.

Anyway, so this fancy man who drank this fancy drink at this clearly not-fancy bar was surveying possible companions, for he desired to have a post-work chat. The fellow to his right was too old. The one on his left was too drunk. Out in the booths, he noted a young-looking fellow with long black hair, just barely tied out of his eyes. The drink sitting at his table was untouched, its coaster soaked with condensation. The ragged punk himself was hunched forward, and careful observation revealed that he was painting something.

So, the fancy businessman grabbed his fancy drink and walked over to the booth the ragged punk was sitting at. Now, he could see what the ragged punk was doing. He wasn't actually painting, but practicing some kind of calligraphy, except that he was using red ink instead of black, so it looked a little strange. Also, practicing calligraphy in a bar was generally not the norm. If this place had way more patrons, the punk would have been thrown out by now.

Noting the fancy businessman was staring down at his work, the young punk paused. Leaning back, he asked, eyes barely seen behind his long black strands, "Do you know how to read it?"

The fancy man glanced down at the red words before shrugging. "I admit that I wasn't never too good at reading _hiragana_."

The young punk rolled his eyes, before reading out, " _Doku o motte doku o sei suru_. Use a poison to counter a poison."

"Indeed," the fancy man remarked, swirling his fancy glass drink. "But how would you know which is the poison to counter the poison?"

"Well, I imagine it'd be the same way one would know how to kill a man that cannot be killed."

The fancy man considered these words for a moment, before flashing a wide grin and sticking out a hand. "It's a great honour to meet you in person, 13, after having heard so much about you." He drew himself slightly back to examine the young fellow draped in the patchy, decrepit attire. "You're a lot less imposing out of costume."

"Who says I'm not in costume right now?" A toothy grin spread itself behind the straight, black locks that obscured much of the punkster face. "Oh, and Mr. Krei? You're every bit the snob you look like on television."

So the fancy businessman sat himself across the murderous vigilante of Burgeshima, after which the latter gestured towards the untouched drink. "Oh, if you want it, you can have it. I can't drink it."

"Ah, so you have an aversion to alcohol?"

The eyes behind the veil of hair narrowed themselves. "Don't attempt to figure me out, Mr. Krei. You will not like what you find."

"Alistair," corrected the fancy business fellow with a slickness that he was so famous for. "We are to become partners, are we not?"

"That would depend on the reasons for the partnership and -" 13 dipped his brush into the ink pot, before beginning to write once again "-whether there's anything you can actually contribute."

"Ah. Well." Krei lowered his voice, the smile on his face appearing a little more strained. "I've been keeping tabs on you for some time, from here at San Fransokyo. You've done quite a number of Burgeshima's underworld."

"Yes," the vigilante mused mildly as he carefully drew out another character. "But my work's hardly done."

"The Nightmare Yakuza." The businessman stopped for a breath, or perhaps he expected the notorious criminal-killer of Burgeshima to response. But his companion said nothing, so he added, "I know that it's your next target."

13 didn't even look at him. "You underestimate me if you think I only have one target at a time."

"I've seen your methods, studied your patterns of attacks," Krei pressed on. "I know you're not the type to be satisfied with the small fry - Oh, no, you want the big guns. Well, I respect a man with big goals."

"As long as those goals don't interfere with your own."

"We have a common enemy here." He ignored the jibe from the young punkster. "I have resources. You have the skill set. We can help each other out."

"I have other ways of getting resources, so I really don't see why I need you."

"Very simple. I have information."

Some of the black strands were shaken back, revealing a raised brow on the vigilante's face. "Of what?"

"How do you kill a man who cannot be killed?"

13 went silent for a second, before remarking snidely, "Well, you clearly want to tell me what it is, so why don't you?"

"It's very simple. You use the thing that made him unkillable in the first place." For fellow pushing his fifties, the expression on the businessman's face could only be described as boyish delight. "Now, _you_ don't know what it is, and I doubt you'll find anyone else who does, because it's one of the most closely guarded secrets in Ameripan."

The vigilante's tone was reeking scepticism. "And you know, how?"

"I've been engaged by the Ameripan Military discreetly on a few occasions to experiment with a certain special 'element'," Krei explained. "Attempts to weaponise it, however, failed drastically."

"Oh?"

"The material proved catastrophic for all staff working on it, whatever capacity they were in. Many of them had to be admitted into mental institutions." He grimaced, but more at the cost that it had induced for the company rather than any actual regret for what had occurred. "As far I can tell, no one can survive interacting with this material for prolonged periods of time."

"And you think I'd survive it, then?"

"Hmm, well, -" Krei pulled a face "-you don't really need to, do you?"

The vigilante's brush was frozen in the air. With his free hand, 13 drew the long black locks back from his eyes, scrutinising the shrewd man sitting across him. "How much exactly do you know about me, Mr. Krei?"

"Enough to know there're many reasons why a man can't be killed-" there was a knowing glint in his gaze "-and one's because dying is a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

The young man allowed the irregular length of a fringe to fall back to its old place, concealing his expression, if it had changed at all. Finally - "You will give all the information I need, and provide me with the work space."

"Fair enough, but they'll have to be off-site, discreet location. I can't have the Yakuza finding out about our deal."

"We haven't made a deal yet." The cool tone made it clear he wasn't listening to arguments. "State your terms."

"When you take down the Yakuza, you'll leave Krei Tech out of it. That, and all my assets."

13 let out a loud snort. "Of course. Covering your rear as always, Krei."

"Well, it's a policy that has kept me alive this long." The businessman flashed a cocky smile. "You should try it sometime."

"Hilarious."

Do you know how at the beginning I told you this one of those man walks into a bar jokes? Well, it isn't, but there's still a joke.

A businessman walked into a bar. He bought a fancy drink, talked to a punkster who's really a vigilante on a murder streak, then walked out of the bar. Three months later, he was slaughtered violently in his own office, after which his office was blown up, several of his workers were killed and the vigilante was framed for his murder.

The whole conversation was about how to kill a man who cannot be killed, by a pair of men who were both killed in painful, terrible ways. It's funny because it shows how meaningless and temporal one's life can be.

* * *

"Hey, _hey!_ Lass, look at me."

Her eyes darted up to him, frightened. This wasn't how this was meant to go.

"Look at me." Her father's eyes were bright and comforting, his brogue-laced tone soothing. Anything that he said in that tone, she could believe. "It's gonna be okay."

"He's lying." The knife against her chin was pressed deeper into her chin, making her squeak. "It's not going to be."

This wasn't how ninth birthdays were supposed to go. They were supposed to be days where your parents dumped your younger brothers with a sitter and took you out for a day, doing only things that _you_ wanted to do. They were supposed to be days where you want to the dollar theatre with them, because your favourite movie starring Errol Flynn was playing, and because it's more exciting to see it on a big screen than at home. They were supposed to be days when your mother picked out your favourite fast food joint, and let you have all the fries you wanted even if it's bad for you, but still didn't let you drink coffee. They were supposed to be days when your father bought you an awesome toy bow, complete with rubber-tipped arrows, even though your mother thought that you were too old for toys especially ones associated with violence.

At nine years old, you're not supposed to know anything about violence.

"What do you want?" It's fascinating how rapidly her father's expressions could change, like shuffled cards in a deck. Her mother grabbed his arm - whether out of fear for themselves, or the daughter that the knife-wielding had in his grasp, Merida didn't know.

What she did know was that if this story were anything like the movie she had just watched with her parents, the good guys would win. Supposedly.

"Nothing much," drawled the sinister shadow that had her in his grasp. She tried to tear free, but his grip on her shoulder was too strong. "Well, maybe-" he inclined his head towards her mother "-those pearls?"

Her parents didn't even need to exchange looks before her mother ripped off the necklace. She offered it to the violent creature, manner still reserved though she was clearly shaken. A dark hand came forward and grabbed with too much force, causing the string to snap. Her mother gasped when the bright white pearls slipped off, pelting down in the puddle below like rain drops. Merida felt the large figure behind her growl in annoyance, before grabbing her tighter and lifting the knife towards her face.

"You!" Her captor barked at her father. "Your wallet."

Her father's face was like thunder. She knew that he was barely containing his rage as it was. By nature of his profession, he was always a fighter. It was no wonder that he nurtured his daughter to be the same, encouraging her interest in archery and her obsession with Robin Hood. Humbling himself into following orders from a thug along a dark alley was not something he did often. Merida knew that if she was not in the equation, her father would have boxed the living daylights out of this fellow long ago.

Slowly, her father pulled his wallet out, her mother whimpering fearfully by his side. He held out to the creature, who snatched it away and hastily pocketed it.

"You got what you wanted, now let her go," her father demanded.

She couldn't see him at this angle, but she could tell her captor was cocking his head, as if pondering over her father's command. The answer came, so cool, so inhumane – "Hmmm, _no._ "

Her parents were pale and afraid, but they couldn't express it. Not in front of her.

"You see, the minute I give her back to you, you'll call the cops," the criminal explained in a matter-of-fact manner. "That won't leave me a lot of leg room for making off, eh? Nope." The steel blade started to cut in her chin, making her hiss in pain. "I think I'll keep my insurance."

"Please!" Her mother wanted to throw herself forward, only to be held back by her father. "She's just a child!"

Her captor made an ugly gurgling sound, a vague mix between a laugh and choke. "You have no idea how little that means to me."

"I'm begging you," her mother, ever the negotiator, now attempted to appeal to the criminal's conscience, not considering that such did not exist. "Where is your humanity?"

Merida felt the criminal's hold slacken somewhat, only for him to let out a chilling chuckle, starting as a small rumble at the back of his throat that built up into a deafening cackle. She managed to rip herself away, fleeing into her mother's protective arms and behind her father's furious form.

 _"Humanity?"_ the mugger growled, tossing his knife away. "I haven't been in touch with my _humanity_ for years." In the shadows, she couldn't make up his face, but his eyes – his eyes she could see. Yellow, crazed, unnatural.

 _Evil._

"'Linor," her father whispered to her mother, raising his large arms in front of him. He was a professional boxer – he feared no fight. "Get her out of here."

"Oh, please, do try," the criminal entreated with a mocking bow.

As she pressed against her mother's chest, the little girl's eyes widened when she noticed how the dark figure in the shadow seemed to grow in size. His limbs seemed to thicken and his shoulder broaden, ripping through the seams of his ragged clothing. In the moonlight, she could see his jaws lengthen, his teeth sharpen, and at the peak of his height, the criminal – the creature rather – was twice the height of her father.

"Elinor!" her father yelled.

Her mother scooped her in her arms before fleeing the scene, just in time for her father to launch himself at the roaring beast. Even as her mother carried her away, Merida's eyes were fixed on the scene, and her small hands let go of the toy bow in favour of reaching out towards him.

"DAAAAAAAA'!"

And suddenly she found herself sprawled on wooden floorboards. Rubbing her eyes, she recognised her surroundings to be that of her home back in Dunbuoka. The television was blaring from the living room, static buzzing under the strained voice of the reporter.

Merida pushed herself off the ground, shielding her eyes when the blaring screen pierced them. The words from the newscast was starting to become clear to her.

 _"-has become apparent that this killer will stop at nothing,"_ the reporter on the screen spat out over the whirling sirens behind him. The girl crawled up to her feet, stepping towards the screen warily. _"The commissioner and the police force are a_ _ll at a_ _lost_ _as to dealing_ _with this 'Demon Bear' that has come to plague on our streets."_

"That's quite enough, Miss Dunbroch!"

Again, the scene changed, and she was back in the school courtyard of Argyll's Elementary for Elegant Girls. She found herself looking over her shoulder, up to the infuriated mien of the discipline mistress. When she glanced back on the ground, one of her fellow students was slumped on the ground, eye bruised and nose bleeding.

"This kind of violence-" she felt the discipline mistress yanking her away from the wounded student, hissing in her ear "-has no place in this school. Is that clear, Ms. Dunbroch?"

"She called my father names," Merida could feel her own lips moving against her will. She felt her fists clench as she tore her arm from the hard woman's grip. "She had no right!"

"Merida," another voice entered the scene. "You mightn't realise this, but you are the heir of this company." When her head swerved, the scene swerved too, and she was standing in her mother's office in the mayoral building. Her mother was seated behind the desk, looking prim and disapproving. "You were born to a place of privilege, and privilege comes with responsibilities. In time, I expect you to fulfil them. Many people, and their livelihoods, are counting that. Do you understand?"

 _"YOU_ CAN'T POSSIBLY HOPE TO BEAT ME!"

The lights had gone out, but by now she was used to the random switching. This time, she was in some dark alley in downtown Dunbuoka. She could feel a sharp pain running up her side and she reached for it, gasping when her fingers brushed the bloody slashes along her ribs. Her cloak was wet and her bow was shattered at her feet. Her eyes darted up to the gnarled creatures just inches away from her, towering over her, taunting her with his big, yellow eyes. Each terrible stride he took forced her to limp back. It was clear that she wasn't going to win this battle.

It was then that she that recalled the saying: the one who fights and runs away lives to fight another –

"I need something that would make me stronger," the girl found spilling from her lips. Now she was in the witch's cottage, surrounded by the fumes leaking off the cauldron and the mysterious glow emanated from the curious potion bottles all around "Your arrows are not enough."

"It's not my fault he breaks your bow before you get to use 'em arrows," the hunch-backed old witch retorted testily as she stirred the mixture in her pot. "Mind you, those be excellent arrows. They tell you what to hit just before you fire them."

The crow resting on her shoulder chirped with too much merriment, _"Lousy archer! Stupid redhead. Caw CAW! Caw CAW!"_

She felt her face twist into a scowl, her eyes narrowing down at the irritating avian, before flitting back to its owner. "Well, if you won't grant me greater power, then point me to someone who will."

The Witch gazed sharply at her, her wizened countenance warped into a moody frown. "Trust me, lass, you won't like the costs."

"I need to change my FATE!"

She was standing in the circle of the stones now, under the darkness of the moon and in the chill of the late autumn. In her, agony, despair, hatred and fear were shaking up a storm. The bow was cast onto the dirt and she was walking in circles. The fog was rising, her limbs were shaking and she had an unfinished geography assignment to submit the follow-day. She needed answers, and she needed them now!

"Tell me what to do!" Merida could hear herself begging the stones and whatever supernatural realm they represented. "I'm not afraid. Tell me! Please!"

Lightning cracked across the sky and now she was in a dusty old curio shop, or at least, that's what it looked like from the outside. The scrawny conman across the counter was smirking down at her, but she wasn't going into this blind. She had heard that he had a habit of swindling his customers out of their very existence, which was why the terms of the deal had to be very clear.

"I want it down on ink," she heard herself insisting. "I know how you operate, Shadowman."

The condescension on his expression vanished briefly, flickering into annoyance. "Oh?"

"The conditions are going to be so clear that a child could understand it."

"Gah." He sneered at her, appraising in a disrespectful fashion. "Well, you most certainly are a child. Why should I waste my time with you, eh?"

"Because I'm a child who can punch arrows in your skull." Within a microsecond, her bow was whipped out, projectile loaded and pointing at the man's head. "Now, write."

 _"Follow the steps of the Bear King-"_

She was whipped away to another location, then another, and again, and again. It was exhilarating. It was invigorating. It was empowering.

It was also terrifying.

 _"Follow his hunting call-"_

"Wait, please!" The gibbering criminal at her feet was grovelling before her. Her insides swirled with disgust. Just second ago, he had been so arrogant, so full of himself when he aimed his gun at the poor old woman. "Have mercy!"

She cocked her head to the side, before letting the arrow fly straight into his stomach. His shrieks of agony were extraordinarily satisfying.

Then, Merida heard a horrified gasp. Her glowing eyes shot towards the victim of the scene, who was shaking in fright at the sight of assailant and hero. It occurred to the girl then that it might be a mistake to deal out justice so freely in front of the innocent.

 _"Follow his ride to battle-"_

"This vicious teenager who just goes around shooting arrows at people," her mother muttered in disgust. "I don't know whether to pity her or to fear her."

"Criminals," she corrected.

Her mother gazed up from her newspaper. "What did you say, dear?"

"She shoots only criminals," Merida clarified, not looking up from the book that she was supposed to be reading. "And she never kills them."

"Oh, heaven forbid. No, she just maims them for life." Her mother's sniff made it clear what she thought of the Will-O-Wisp, before flipping onto the next page of the paper.

Merida merely harrumphed at that, before muttering under her breath, "They deserve worse."

 _"Follow him to his fall…"_

"You can't kill me," the creature declared. Its fur-covered mien was streaked in blood. Its back was riddled with arrows. But it was still on its four feet, still at its full strength, and famished for the taste of human flesh.

The hood over her head made her feel brave, and the pendant hanging from her neck made her feel strong. She loaded her bow, stopping a good five feet away from the bleeding beast. "Surrender, Mor'du. This is your last chance."

The beast however ignored her question, letting out a feral growl as it stalked towards her. Even in its injured state, it still had the strength to continue battle. "Foolish child. You don't have the guts to kill me."

"Perhaps not." She poised her bow to fire. She could feel the arrow tugging against her hands, prompting her on what she should target. "I guess I'll just maim you for life."

The projectile was released, and it slammed straight into the beast's eye.

"Your time's up."

The scene had changed once again. Now she was in white room that she had never seen before. Her Wisp costume was gone, and she was left in a tattered version of the pink gown. She spun around, trying to work out where the voice came from.

And then she saw the masked vigilante of Burgeshima himself, clad head to toe in steel and holding her silver pendant by the chain. 13's mask shifted slightly towards her, and his voice came out through the filter, "You had your chance."

Then he let go the pendant.

"NO!" she darted forward to catch it, but just before she could reach it, something cold wrapped itself around her ankle, knotting tight and yanking her away. She screamed as she felt herself being pulled into the black-ish oblivion, the white room disappearing from view only just moments before the silver pendant hit the ground, smashing into pieces.

The world around her started to rocketing around like a mad dance. Linearity disappeared. White became black. Colours were inverted and shapes were pulled into geometric disasters. She felt herself being simultaneously being squashed and pulled apart. She could feel her skin burning, vibrating, as her fingers turned blue – brilliant blue, as if lit aflame -

"NO." Merida shook her head, trying to regain her focus. There was something wrong with all these visions filling her mind. They felt real, and she knew they were real, but there was something …something … off about them. "No, no, no…"

 _"Leysa!"_

The booming voice startled her, shaking the shadow images around her.

 _"LEYSA!"_

Merida could feel the darkness around her being torn apart, and she screamed, clutching her head as if that foolish action could save her from the pain.

 _"LEYSA MYRKR!"_

She suddenly sat up, breathing deeply and fearfully. The swirling, shifting world had disappeared, yet she still found herself in the dark.

"Merida?"

She whipped about, wanting to raise her bow only to find it no longer in her hands. Fortunately, the owner of the voice was no threat and her chest swelled with relief instead. "Jinketsu?"

"Yep." His helmet had been removed and he pouring out all the sand that had accumulated in it. His appearance was haggard, as if he had just seen a ghost. And maybe he had, the way she had. He must have noticed how shaken she was, for he then asked, "Did you-"

"Later," she cut him off, examining their surroundings. It was then she discovered that there was black sand flying all around them like a whirl wind, but it didn't touch them. It was being repelled by a strange light that coming from overhead. Gazing up, she was greeted by a truly extraordinary sight.

The one-legged hero of Berkazaki was no longer frail and ragged as she had seen before. In fact, his entire body seemed to be glowing, making it difficult to distinguish where he began and the light ended. His eyes were wide-open and completely white. His arms were raised, palms pressing outwards. What kept him hovering off the ground, she didn't know, but the chilling, unearthly unnatural tone he spoke with kept her from asking him. _"Leysa myrkr! Hiccup kappi regin, banamaðr andskoti. Leysa, eða andask!"_

The sheer energy radiating of Hiccup was so powerful that she had to shade her eyes. The black grains surrounding them seemed to scream as they were shot away by the light.

Merida hissed to the boy reclined next to her, "How's he doing that?"

"I have no clue," Jinketsu whispered back as he clapped his helmet back on. "But I think this whole thing might have just triggered his super power."

"Super power? He has one?" From all she had heard of Knight and Fury, he was just some lad riding a flying dinosaur. She had never considered that when they called him 'super', they actually meant ' _SUPER_ -super'.

"We should probably get out," Jinketsu told her, snapping his opaque visor back over his face. His helmeted head dipped towards the grains below their feet. Though they were still being repelled by the luminous force that surrounded their creepily air-bourne comrade, there was something about the black grains that just filled her insides with dread.

"Yep."

Before she could anything however, she felt a buzz against her thigh, followed by the ringtone, _"SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS. WHO AM I TO DISAGREEEEE?-"_

"Who on-" Merida dug into the pocket of her pants, only to find her phone vibrating furiously and Hans' name flashing on the front. "Oh."

She felt Jinketsu tap her on the shoulder. "Err, Wisp?"

"Not now." She bit her lip. It wasn't a good idea to answer it here of all places, but he wasn't going to stop calling until she picked it up. Considering that she had been just kidnapped the day before, he would have good reason. The last thing she wanted was for him to put a call through to her mum.

"Seriously, now's not the time to be using your phone."

The redhead brushed her companion's hisses off, removing a glove so as to the tap on the screen. Raising the device to her ear, she spoke into the phone, "Hello?"

 _"Merida? Finally!"_ Hans' voice came in a whisper, thick with relief mixed with anxiety. _"Where are you?"_

"Erm…"

"Wisp, seriously, get off your phone!" Jinketsu tapped her more furiously on her shoulder.

 _"Who's that?"_ Her babysitter was suspicious. _"Are you with that Hamada kid?"_

Hamada? Oh, right. That's Jinketsu's real name. Or part of it. Whatever. "Maybe. Are you still drinking yourself to death?"

"MERIDA!" And that was when the phone knocked from her hands, clattering on the ground.

"Hey!" The redhaired girl swung furiously around to reprimand the boy, only discover that the narrow cell had returned to its prior dark state. "What happened to the light?"

Jinketsu's armour finger pointed towards the one-legged boy, who was no longer glowing or floating. In fact, he was lying on his back on the sand, unconscious and quite useless.

It was then that the black sand swallowed up her phone, extinguishing all the light that they had. At this moment, Merida's chest was abruptly filled with an all-powerful horror. Her skin turned cold and her muscles just froze. In her ears, rang out the song she had heard so many times, yet could still not understand. _"Follow the steps of the Bear King, follow his hunting call-"_

"Not this again," she heard Jinketsu groan. She could vaguely feel his hands grabbing her shoulders, shaking her. "Snap out of it! C'mon!"

But Merida wasn't really listening to him, because she was staring down into the swirling black sand, and she saw a little bob of blue flame appear in the air, dancing. Behind it, another formed, and another, and another, until there was a whole line of them that led them down a never-ending darkness.

 _"Follow his ride to battle, follow him to his-"_

 _SMACK!_

She gasped. Reaching for her smarting cheek, she glared down at the culprit, only to see herself glaring back through his reflective visor. Displeased, she glanced back down to the darkness, and found the floating wisps were no longer there.

"Don't let the sand get to you." Jinketsu's filtered voice was unapologetic. "I don't know how, but it's making us see things that aren't there."

"We need to get out of here," Merida breathed out at last. The black sand flitting around them was getting increasingly erratic, starting to brush against her face and pulling back against her cloak. Though, logically, she knew it was just sand, the doubt and fear continued to press down on her, making a vague sense of choking in her throat.

And the song was still playing over and over in her head, _"Follow the steps of the Bear King-"_

"We need to get out of here," she said again, clenching her fist and shaking her head. "We need to get out of here. But how do we get out of here? How are we supposed to-" her thoughts were flying everywhere, and images kept flashing in her mind – to her mother, to her brothers, to the dripping jaws and maimed faces –

"Focus, Merida!" Jinketsu's gauntlet squeezed her wrist, the pain bringing her back to reality. He had looped other his arm under Hiccup's and was holding him upright next to her. The sand below them had somehow risen up to their shins when she wasn't looking. "You need to teleport us."

"Te-le-port," she repeated slowly, squeezing her eyes shut. Oh, why did her head hurt so? _'Boxer and Heir Fergus Dunbroch murdered by carnivorous serial killer'._ Teleport. Power. _Power. She didn't have power. She needed it. But where? But how?_ Fear gripped her insides and her knees buckled. _'I can't-I need to-I must-AVENGE!-no, wait, don't. Not yet._ "No, no, I can't..."

"MERIDA! FOCUS!"

She could see his form in the sand. She could see his mangled features brought to life by the dark grains. She could see his mocking eye and his gnarled jaw bared towards her. She could feel the tremors on the ground as he approached her. And she was small and too weak. Too weak to save her father. Too weak to …

In her mind, she saw her house back in Dunbuoka, with the glass shattered and curtains ripped. Furniture had been flung everywhere, smashed to splinters. And there was blood, so much blood. And she saw the bodies – Harris, Hubert, Hamish. Her hand flew to her mouth as she collapsed next to them. It couldn't be real, she knew, yet there they were, lying before her. She reached a hand towards them, slowly, and felt their cold, clammy flesh. But this couldn't be! They were so young.

And she heard a sharp scream coming from further back in the house, a feminine one.

Her eyes widened as she felt her legs moving forward. "Mum? MUM?"

She shoved the master bedroom door open. The bed lay overturned, split apart. Claw marks scarred the floorboards. Drawers lay half opened as they were. Mirror cracked. Her mother was nowhere in sight, but there was a lot of blood everywhere. Too much blood, in fact.

"Mum?" She took a step forward, muscles tensing in preparation.

 _"You failed me."_ Merida She spun around, and suddenly she had come face to face with her father. He looked much the same as he had when she last saw him – in one piece, that was. Yet there was something cold about him, as if all of his humanity had been sucked away, leaving a hollow shell. His voice was not kind and warm, as it always been for her – for his little warrior princess. _"You have failed them."_

"No, no, no, Da'!" She shook her head frantically, trying to reach for him but he shifted away. "I haven't – I - I mean – I-"

 _"You haven't avenged me."_

"I can't. It's-" she sucked in a hard breath "-complicated. I can't right now. But I will! I promise you-"

 _"You've failed them."_

"-no, no, Da', listen to me-"

 _"You're like him now."_

"What?" She couldn't believe her ears. Why was her father saying this to her?

"Merida?" It was barely a croak, but she recognised its source.

Now when she spun around, she could see her mother. "Mum?"

Her usually neat brown hair was in a disarray, and her dress had been ripped to the flesh, stained crimson. When she dashed to help her, her mother's eyes suddenly widened, and she scrambled back, "Stay away from me, murderer!"

The girl staggered back, shocked. "Mum?"

"ST-Stay away!" Her mother was half-sobbing, half-screaming. This hysteria was the polar opposite to her usually impassive demeanour.

"Mum, it's me. It's Mer-" when she stretched her hand forward, Merida realised that it was coated in blood. Peering down at it in disbelief, the girl was horrified to discovered that her fingers had grown into sharp, bony talons.

Against the back drop of her mother's whimpers, she dashed towards the cracked mirror and gasped at the sight of her mouth, dripping scarlet from cheek to cheek. Long fangs protruded from her upper lip, and her eyes were a sickly yellow.

This couldn't be real. This couldn't-

And suddenly she doubled-up, a burning sensation attacking in her. She fell onto the ground, curled up in a ball. Her eyes were screwed shut as she screamed, screeched and howled. She felt her insides melting, turning into a boiling slush. Her bones were lit ablaze as she felt them curve, expand, twist in way they weren't supposed to. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

And just as abruptly as before, it was quiet.

Then she heard herself exhale.

The girl opened her eyes, and noted that her head felt a little heavier than before.

"-flush out the sand. Give it a second more." She heard a voice. It was Jinketsu's, but it sounded a bit different. "Hey, you're awake!"

"What happened?" she groaned. She realised they both of them were in now waist deep in black sand, and torrents of the grain were still beating down on them. For some reason, her vision seemed have a slightly bluish hue to it.

"You blacked out and a bear made of sand tried to maul us. I destroyed it, for now." The boy, though still strapped in his dimly-glowing armour, was no longer wearing his helmet. It was then when Merida realised what exactly she was wearing on her head.

Her hands felt the helmet on her, and she asked, "Why?"

"I realised that you blacked out this time, but I didn't, so I figured the helmet helped." The other young hero shrugged, but his eyes were no longer focused. "I guess, arm, I guess-" then his form stiffened, and he swallowed audibly.

"Jinketsu?"

And that was when the weather changed. The sweeping sandstorm seemed to pause momentarily, as the grains formed this time a different shape. Their texture became akin to dancing shadows, flickering and fluttering around them like a black flame. Behind the safety of the visor, she noted a trickle of sweat leak down the boy's forehead and she waved a hand in front of him. He didn't respond.

Then she saw a figure appear at the end of the cell. It was in the shape of a man, but his face was obscured with a kabuki mask. He raised his two arms. Black flames abruptly soared around them, licking everything around them, the heat around them searing and scorching. Smoke poured through the air, and even through the helmet's filters, she swore she could taste the soot. She heard Jinketsu's breaths quicken. His hands were raised over his head. His eyes were squeezed tight and every inch of bravado was stripped from his mien. "No, no, don't go there," he begged, lost in a vision, much like she had. "No, no, no-"

"This is getting stupid," the girl muttered, cracking her neck. She reached over for Hiccup, who still out like a light and halfway submerged in the rising sand. With her other hand, she grabbed Jinketsu, who was now starting to sob. "Yep, okay. Let's go."

With a thought, she willed the three of them from the cell, and before the black flames could touch them, blue ones engulfed them and vanished them into thin air.

~~~0~~~

He hadn't been discharged yet, but for some reason, he felt a huge inclination to leave the hospital building. He couldn't place his finger on why. The only reason he could give was that he had a hunch that something was going to happen.

So still in his hospital gown, Kristoff hobbled out of the Burgeshima National Hospital, and somehow, no one stopped him. Whether it was because they were too busy to notice him, or because this hospital honestly didn't care if their patients went AWOL, he didn't know. He was almost glad that they didn't stop him, because he was just in time to see the explosion.

The sound of the blast made everyone on the street stop. All heads were immediately veered towards the source of the commotion, with drivers even slowing their vehicles to take in the sight of a building smoking into the night.

Noting that there was an elderly gentleman standing not too far from him, the blonde boy asked, "What building's that?"

"The Hotel Kuroki," the man answered breathily, eyes still fixed in the distance. His jaw was hanging open, as if even in speaking he couldn't withhold his shock. "But, who…?"

"Justice." Another bystander staring at the smoky skyline had entered the conversation without permission. He was a bald thin fellow whose expression was along the lines of almost religious ecstasy. "Justice has come upon the demons of the land, and it will wash away the evils of this city with blood."

Kristoff glanced back towards the smoking building and wondered if the 'demons' the man spoke off had merely been conquered by other demons.

* * *

 _0:00:05_

"Blondie, plan?"

 _0:00:04_

"Blondie?" Flynn's tone was slightly more anxious.

 _0:00:03_

She stood stark still, frozen on the spot and brain completely blank. She didn't know how to disarm a bomb. In fact, she had never dealt with a bomb in her entire superhero career.

The criminals in Kurobe were, come to think about it, pretty tame.

 _0:00:02_

"Oh, crud. Well." With box in his hands, he leapt of the stage, hurrying past the tables of confused guests and heading towards one of the windows. Without an warning, he tossed the black device forward, letting it smash through the glass, covering his face with his arm as the shards splattered over him.

He then darted away from the window, still covering his head, and it was only then that Rapunzel subconsciously remembered that she needed to do something. Pulling out as much of the energy around as she could – electricity from the wires, heat from the air – and converted into light energy. With all the power brimming within her, Rapunzel stretched her arms towards shattered windows and constructed as large a shield as she could.

The translucent yellow shield however cracked rapidly when a resounding wave of heat and fire slammed against the hotel building. The diners screamed and yelled as they were thrown from their seats, with tables toppling over and silverware crashing against glassware. The boom echoed in her own ears and she staggered back, falling straight on her rear. For a second, she couldn't hear anything, or see very much either, with all the dots dancing in her vision.

Then slowly, everything returned to her. She saw the guests picking themselves off the ground, checking themselves and then each other. Some were coughing as smoke from the blast poured in. There were some much nearer the window who were groaning in pain, either from the scars from the heat flaying their skin, or the weight of the furniture pressing down on them.

"Are you alright?" the question had come from the beautiful blonde pianist, who had then stretched a hand towards her, only to hastily pull it back after a moment of thought. Rapunzel ignored her, instead forcing herself back to her feet and heading towards the heart of the damage.

As terrible as everything looked, it wasn't actually that bad. Most of the people could crawl themselves out of the rubble and the shouting had ceased. Since she had drained the building of its main electrical supply, it would take a while for the emergency lights to return, so she was wary in her navigation through the debris. Some of the draperies had caught fire, but there were other men in black who had rushed over to the scene with fire extinguishers, so she wasn't too worried.

The blonde girl finally found the one she was looking for, laying on his stomach with his hands covering his head. There was a chair on his back that she quickly shoved away. Thankfully, he was still conscious and did not appear hurt. "Flynn?"

"I'm alright, Blondie." He waved off her concern, though he did wince upon pushing himself up. There were some bruises along his forearm, but he was mostly fine. She stretched out a hand towards him, which he accepted.

"Is this 13's work?" Rapunzel yanked him back to his feet.

"Yes, but-" his jaw hardened "-I doubt this is it. It'd be too ease-"

And that was when the ceiling above them shattered.

* * *

The Wolves were a rag-tag bunch of semi-illegal immigrant hoodlums, but where it counted, they delivered.

When the crystal ceiling of the Hotel Kuroki grand ballroom shattered, the patrons below screamed. Nightmares Guards had been so stunned with the abrupt occurrence that they made no move to stop the armoured thugs that came raining down through the roof. The Wolves pointed their weapons at the alarmed guests, yelling at them to get in their seats with hands above the table. Some even grabbed nearby diners off their chairs, holding them close with daggers at their throats. At the same time, more armed hoodlums came rushing through the entrance doors, gunning down all the security personnel in sight. Blood splattered on the walls and bodies crumpled to the ground.

When the screams and yells escalated in volume, the booming voice of the Wolf Leader resounded through the ballroom in the form of a very annoyed "SHUT UP!"

Silence filled the ballroom just as the emergency lights flickered back on.

Pleased with the quiet, Da Lang then nodded to his subordinates who now stood at the entrance. They pulled open the double doors, and in strolled a regal figure dressed in flowing silk robes. His white hair had been bundled up behind him, and his exposed neck revealed the chain of red-eyes pierced into his skin. Even for those who had never seen him in person, it was clear who this intruder was.

The White Peacock strolled down the ballroom slowly, savouring the fear and uncertainty rolling off those surrounding him. The guests who were being held at knifepoint by his men tried to crane their necks to see him, but the gangsters just tightened their grips and growled, not wishing to give any leeway for escape.

"My, my, what a party." The Chinese-born ganglord stopped at the centre of the ballroom, surveying the area at a casual, almost relaxed pace. "And what a turnout. None of you could pass up a grand party like this, could you?"

"You weren't invited." This soft jibe came from a raspy, cool voice. When a figure rose up from one of the seats, the Wolves charged forwards, ready to tackle the courageous fool.

But the _Kumicho_ of the Nightmare Yakuza was no fool, and the Wolf that reached for him had his face smashed against the table and his neck snapped back. Pitch then carelessly shoved him on the ground, as if that hooligans had been nothing but a sack of beans.

As the other wolves swerved their rifles towards the famed Nightmare King, Shen shouted, "Don't waste your ammo on him! Keep those guns on his guests!" His dark, piercing eyes flitted mockingly to the proud Kingpin. "After all, no point killing the man that can't be killed."

"If you know that already, I question the new level of insanity that you must have reached." Pitch's face was still as he folded his arms. "This is the most half-baked of all half-baked plans I've ever seen. I've squashed you before, and I can do it easily again."

The Chinese ganglord blinked, then he threw his head back and cackled. As he did, the guests in the ballroom cast subtle glances at one another, then back at the albino ganglord that held them all captive.

"Oh, oh, you don't know half of my 'half-baked' plan, most respected _Kumicho_." The ganglord made a mocking bow towards his detested rival. "You see, while it's true I can't match you in resources, numbers or even raw power, I do however have one element up my sleeve that you do not. You see, fortune beams down on me." A triumph smile graced his thin lips, so full of pride. "Or perhaps, more accurately, _mis_ fortune beams down on _you_."

His words sent a flutter of worry amongst the guests, who were starting to get an idea of what the Chinese ganglord was referring to.

Scowling at how gullible those around him were, Pitch retorted, "You must have lost your mind if you're trusting some moody eccentric of a vigilante to help you."

"And you must have lost your mind if you believe that he can't touch you." There was a maniacal gleam in his eye, so bright that it was impossible to believe that it was merely the emergency lights reflecting off his pupils. "Because he can, and he will. And when he finally does, I'll be the first spit on your grave. Oh, you might want to hold off calling for reinforcements, or else…" He pointed down the ballroom, where Da Lang had his arms looped around the head of blonde, gun pointed at her head. The girl's expression made it clear that she was furious, but also in pain, and that might have been a factor contributing to her lack of fight. "You know."

For the first time since the conversation began, the Nightmare King appeared genuinely conflicted. That was only for a second though, before his face turned to steel. "You're a fool if you think that you could hope to hold us hostage here."

"Hostage?" Shen repeated, barking a sharp laugh. "Who said anything about hostages?"

He raised his hand.

In a simultaneous, rehearsed fashion, the Wolves dragged their knives across the throats of their victims, causing the watching spectators to squawk and squeal in terror. The only hostage who had not yet been slaughtered still had the gun cocked at her head, and her horrified eyes flickered from the limp bodies to her father.

"This is an execution," the White Peacock announced as the Wolves cocked their automatics at the squirming diners. "Do yourselves a favour and try to die gracefully."

~~~0~~~

Her heart thumping furiously against her ribs as she slipped on her gloves. The second these gunmen had stormed into the bal lroom, Flynn had slipped off elsewhere. To save his own skin, she thought bitterly, but she couldn't blame him. Her presence was no guarantee of his protection, so if he wanted to opt out of helping her, now was the perfect time.

Thieves could come and go as they pleased, but heroes had to stand their ground. And that's what she was going to do.

From her hiding spot behind the pillar, Rapunzel stripped off her waitree _yukata_ , leaving only her bright pink spandex costume. It felt too light, too thin against the gunfire she would face, but she didn't have anything better now.

As she heard the costumed gangster continue on his cocky monologue, she willed her golden hair to stretch upon itself longer, hooking it over her shoulder, around her waist and in her palm. She winced when she heard the shocked gasps and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor.

"This is an execution," she heard the White Peacock declare. She could hear the firearms being cocked and people whimpering.

Rapunzel swallowed as she slapped on her domino mask, trying to feel heroic. To be honest, she was terrified. All her life she had always wanted to be a hero that mattered, not just picking off snatch-thieves and burglars, but really taking down the big fry. Yet, with her opportunity so close at hand, she wasn't sure that she could actually do this.

Mother certainly didn't think she could.

But now was not the time for hesitation. There were people counting on her. Not innocent, good people, by any means, but they were still people.

Whispering a final prayer, she launched out a loop of golden hair, hooking it onto the rafter tie that ran across the ballroom. Pushing herself off the ground, she braced herself as her feet came crashing down the white-robed gangster.

* * *

"HIYYYAAAAAAAAAA!"

This unexpected war-cry was what rang out in the ballroom just seconds before Shen, crime lord with multiple instances of carnage to his name, was shoved unceremoniously off his feet.

A girl in a tight pink costume and ridiculously long hair had landed in the centre of the ballroom, and she was glaring contemptuously down on him.

Indignant and a little embarrassed, the ganglord spluttered on, "What on Earth…?"

"There will be no more killing here tonight," this oddly-dressed girl in pink – pink? Seriously, _pink?_ – declared with a defiant air. "You and fiendish minions can see yourself out of the door."

Shen just gawked incredulously at her.

The girl glared back.

"Begging your pardon, but ...am I supposed to know you?"

She seemed a little deflated, before quickly putting the bravado back up for play. "I am Solaris, Hero of Koro- I mean, of Ameripan."

The Chinese ganglord wasn't too impressed, so even as he lay sprawled on the ballroom floor, he turned to his second-in-command. "Just kill everyone."

"Yes, sir." Da Lang was about to bark the orders for the execution when a coil of hair – _HAIR?_ – flew out and wrapped itself around his body, before the gangster was tossed across to the other side of the room like a baseball.

Other Wolves, on instinct, turned their barrels to the costumed girl. That proved to be a mistake.

 _"Imasugu!"_

The doors of the ballroom burst open as a fresh platoon of Nightmare soldiers poured in, armed to the teeth with war in their eyes.

Everything erupted into chaos.

* * *

While guest around him all scrambled for the exit and all the Nightmares guard rushed towards the intruders, the first thing he did was dive under the table.

While he was comparatively more resistant to injury than the average human, Jack knew that alien flesh was still flesh, and if any of the bullets hit him, he'd still bleed. Of course, he could hear that others had been less fortunate then himself, if the cracking of bones and the blood-curdling screams were anything to go by.

He bit his lip and groaned. Of all the people that he could save, why did it have to be the top-tier members of the Nightmare Yakuza? He was half-tempted to let these Wolves, whatever they called themselves, enact whatever hare-brain massacre they wanted to do.

Okay, okay, he didn't really want the bad guys to succeed. Bad guys murdering bad guys is still murder.

Well, time to get into Guardian-mode.

When he darted out from under the table, Jack was just in time to grab one of the Red-Eye gangsters by his legs, forcing him topple over. Before the gangster could react, Jack lifted the nearby chair and whacked him hard, making the guy sag back, unconscious.

However, another one of those Red Eyes guys came flying at him, shouting in a Chinese dialect as he raised his M16. Jack hastily leapt out of the way, before swinging the same chair at the man and knocking him down like a bowling pin.

Even in the madness, he couldn't feel a little satisfied by his achievement.

Amidst his gloating however, he almost missed it when the sound of feet pattered behind him, and he only just turned in time to catch the blade that was about to descend over his head. "A scimitar? What are we? A renaissance fair?"

The tattooed bloke just spat at him before pulling back the blade and trying to slash him. Jack ducked it easily, side-stepping the lunge that came after before grabbing the fellow by the elbow, twisting the blade out of his arm before sending a frozen tremor up the gangster tattooed arm. The man howled in pain as his arm turned blue and he fell to his knees, moaning and wincing.

With his foes incapacitated, Jack searched the ballroom for his fellow ex-Guardian, but Tooth was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't amongst the slumped dead though, so he wasn't particularly worried. With her powers back, Tooth would be able to look after herself.

First, he needed to attend to more important matters – _Jamie_.

The boy and the other young attendees of the gala had been seated together on a far off corner. They had probably been shuffled away to the changing rooms earlier on, in preparation for the _Judo_ display that they were supposed to perform after Elsa Black's performance. He could only hope that they were still there.

There were many of the Red-Eye gangsters blocking off the main entrance of the ballroom, but none at the exit to the kitchen, so Jack went off in that direction instead.

When he dove in, he was disappointed to find that his path to the changing room would not be so easy. There were a couple of Wolves engaged in battle with Nightmare Guards, in which the Red-E ye-guys were actually winning despite the Nightmares' better technique. One of the Wolves spotted Jack, but before he fire his pistol at him, Jack sent a sharp gust towards him, knocking him back against one of the cupboards and thus knocking him out. His actions were fortunately not noticed by the Nightmares, who would have turned their weapon onto him if they had. The alien lad hurriedly slipped himself past the counters and headed out into the corridor at the end of the kitchen.

There, he could hear the hotel staff crying out for mercy as gun fire rang in the air. There were many more Red-Eyes littered along the path, bringing their weapons down on the waiters, cooks and cleaners who were still trying to flee. Immediately, his heart went out to them. It would be naïve to believe that all the workers in the gala were innocents, but it was the Guardians' job to protect people, good or bad.

He grabbed a dirty plate nearby, blowing a coating of ice over it and crushing it flat. He then launched it forward, and there it went, first _slap!_ against one hooligan's head, then bouncing off the ceiling then ricocheting off a dining cart, then _smack!_ into the armoured stomach of another gangster about to fire his gun, then _psshink!_ into the face of his friend nearby, then _wham!_ against the scalp of the last Red Eye hooligan along the corridor.

Those that had been saved wasted no time either in hesitation or thanks, for they then quickly picked themselves off the ground and hurried down the corridor, where they have decided was their best exit. Jack didn't mind them, for he too was on a hunt himself. He finally found what he was looking for when he saw a unicorn plushie lying outside the storeroom. He picked it up and glanced towards the door.

Jack kicked it open, and was greeted by a threatening array of weapons, from mops to brooms. "What?"

"Jack!" Before he could say anything, our alien hero was attacked a powerful hugger, who had chosen to latch himself around his waist. Fortunately, this vicious hugger was none other Jamie and he did not appear to be harmful, or harmed. "I knew you'd come for us."

"Jack? As in Jack Frost?" the bearer of the mop slowly lowered it, not that it wasn't already shaking in his grip. This scrawny boy adjusted the spectacles on his freckled nose, and his gaping expression revealed his braced teeth. "Wow."

"So Jamie was really telling the truth," whispered the girl who carrying a bucket – not a bucket of sludge, or soap, just an empty bucket. Jack didn't know what she was planning to do with it. "He really does know Jack Frost."

The little brunette fellow whipped himself around, frowning at the red-haired girl who had spoken. "Of course I was telling the truth! Jack Frost always saves the day."

"Um, well, not yet," Jack added, a little embarrassed by the amount of trust exhibited by the young lad. He glanced down the corridor and his attention returned to urgent matters. "Okay, there are some nasty characters in this building, so I need to get you guys out."

"No kiddin'," one of the miniature company agreed heartily. This young fellow was apparently half of a set of twins, if Jack's eyes were not playing tricks on him. "But all the lifts are down with the power blackout. How're we gonna get out?"

Jack grinned wryly. "Well, there's always the old-fashioned way, isn't there?"

The children hurried after him as he led them down the corridor. Shady fellas in sight were immediately knocked away with a trusty blast of wind, and gunfire was deflected through careful blast of ice. He found the fire staircase door and kicked it open, ushering all the kids through as quickly as they could.

The sniffy kid with glasses glanced over the rails dubiously. "I don't think we'll reach down in time."

"They'll catch us for sure," the stouter girl of the group murmured in dismay.

Noting the unicorn pattern she had on her blouse, Jack glanced down at the unicorn plushie he had attained earlier and handed it to her. "Here."

The girl was surprised, but grateful nonetheless, shown by how tightly the toy was squashed in her arms subsequently. All eyes watched him expectantly as he stepped forward, little feet parting a path for him to reach the banister. Jack peered down the stairwell himself, to the nearly endless floors. The short stubby legs of children would never make it far before – well, whatever more crazy that was going to happen.

"If only I had my staff," he muttered to himself, cursing the time that he thought it would be best to leave his favourite conduit at Tooth's home.

"You mean this one?" When he glanced over his shoulder, the crooked object in question was proffered by Jamie. The boy was grinning ear to ear.

Jack accepted it, awed. "But how did you get it-"

"We smuggled it in with the weapons for the Judo performance," the redheaded girl announced proudly. Jack wouldn't have been surprised if it had been her idea, since she did seem like the brains of the group.

"Nice." He curled his hands around the staff, before pointing the crooked end down towards the staircase. "Alright, stand back."

As the kids shuffled out of the way, a white blast emerged from the tip of his staff. A shimmering white frost crept down the staircase, flattening out the steps into a streamlined ramp, made completely of ice.

"Alright, guys." He gazed down at his work approvingly. "I think I've got an idea on how to get all of you out of here, but we need something to ride on."

Jack pondered for a moment, before peeking briefly back out to the corridor. Just his luck, there was no one there at the moment and there happened to be an abandoned dining cart. He picked off a handful of serving trays before slipping back to the emergency stairs.

"Take one, all of you." The children obediently grabbed a tray each. "You'll have to ride these all the way down, and after that, I want you all to get yourself out of this place as fast as possible. _All_ of you. Make sure no one gets left behind. Get them home." This he directed to Jamie. "They'll be safe at Tooth's."

"But what if we don't make it?" The snivelling kid with glasses whimpered.

"What if they catch us downstairs?"

"They won't." He didn't know where he got his confident from, but there was no way he was going to let these kids know how uncertain he felt. "You're smaller than those hooligans, which means you're faster. Stay out of sight and move quick. Most importantly, _stay together_. C'mon, don't fret," he added, upon seeing their worried expression. "Think of this as an adventure. Outrunning the bad guys – it's a thrill. 'sides, they won't be after you guys. They want to big fry, and that's all upstairs."

They seemed slightly more consoled after his assurance, so when he helped them get on their trays, they complied, even pushing themselves off the top step before sliding smoothly down the spiral swirl that was the stairwell.

"Jack?" The young man felt a tug on his sleeve. Of course, it was Jamie, and the poor boy looked worried. "Are you coming with us?"

The older of the two hesitated even as he watched the red-haired girl begin her tobogganing down the icy ramp, letting out a squeal as she did. "I have to stay. Tooth-" he rubbed his elbow uneasily "-she's still in there, and a whole lot of other people."

The boy raised no arguments, no objections, just nodding. His voice however was still fearful and small. "I'll see you after, right?"

The truth was there was no sure way to tell. Even back in the days of the Guardians, it had been always clear that the possibility of survival was never certain. The fight against crime was a very real battle, and all battles came with costs. But Jamie, for the tragedy that has already befallen him, was still a child, and children deserved to have their stories. Even if the stories were untrue.

"Of course." He forced himself to chuckle. "I'm Jack Frost."

The boy clearly didn't see through his falsehood, for he was sufficiently appeased. Unexpectedly, he latched his arms around the older lad's waist, and let go before Jack had a moment to breathe.

"I believe in you, Jack," was Jamie's simple farewell, before he sat himself on his tray and went skidding down the ice ramp, and within seconds, he was gone, like the rest of the children.

All cheer from Jack's expression faded, as he slipped back into the corridor. As a precaution, he froze the door to the staircase. He didn't want any of the Wolves to get pass it.

As he headed back to the centre of the conflict, the alien couldn't help but wonder when he had been deserving of the faith that the young boy had granted him.

* * *

She had never fought a real supervillain before. She didn't know if the White Peacock counted as one, but if he did, then she wasn't doing a very good job.

Solaris barely had a moment to blink when a long curved sword was lunged towards her. Flipping out of the way, she managed to conjure up her trusty frying pan just in time for the next strike.

"You!" The ganglord sounded enraged. Well, he did have good reason. "How dare you interfere! You worthless shrimp!" _Swoop!_ His sword just missed her head "You circus freak!" _Clank!_ It struck the light shield she created. _Plonk!_ It clashed against her frying pan. "You're not even worthy of my presence!"

The girl would have come up with a comeback, except that she was far too occupied with trying not to die. Though garbed in a robe, the White Peacock moved swiftly, almost dancing as he swung his lance-sword around, overhead and under her feet. She tried to grab hold of the ancient weapon using her hair, but the gangster thwarted her attempts by sending a volley of darts to her face. Startled, the girl quickly rolled herself out of the way, only to find herself knocked back by his long pole of hilt.

As she flopped back over against a smashed table, the seething ganglord advanced towards her, brandishing his blade with pride and fury. "This is hardly your fight," he snarled, pointed the wavy blade at her, his white face even whiter with fury, "and you will pay dearly for the interference, you _imbecilic_ _, insignificant smidgen_ of a girl."

Though short of breath, Solaris suddenly felt of a furious surge running through her. Whether it was left over energy from draining the building, or just emotion itself, she didn't know. But she flung her hair at the horrid brute's ankle, giving it hard a tug. Though she would loathe to admit it, it was very satisfying to hear him cry out in surprise when his back struck the floor.

Rising back to her feet, she informed him smugly, "It's pronounced as _Solaris_."

Stepping on his sword before he could lift it again, the young heroine about to use the luminous hair to wrap him up when she heard a projectile buzz past her ear. She shifted her focus into constructing a larger shield, and was just in time to catch the barrage of bullets that came flying towards her face. Gritting her teeth as she stood against the never-ending blows, she redirected her hair towards the shooter. The expression on the tattooed gangster's face when she stole the gun from his grip was priceless, and it got a lot better when she used that same gun to whack him over the head, letting him fall face forward with a comical _plop_.

Hyped-up from her recent victory, Solaris turned back to her captive only to find that he was gone, and sword too.

With her eyes on the floor and the fighting going on everywhere, she didn't notice the Wolf lying just three feet away from her. He reached for his pistol and cocked it slowly, before lifting its barrel and pulling the –

 _BANG!_

The girl jumped back just as the gun fell from the Wolf's hands and his punctured skull drooped back on the fallen chair. The one responsible merely detached the magazine of his rifle, bent down and grabbed the spare clip off the dead's man body, as if this was perfectly ordinary.

"You shot him!" Solaris was aghast.

Flynn merely rolled his eyes as he fitted the new clip into the magazine. "Well, you're welcome."

"We agreed on this - no more criminal activity!"

"A tad hard when-" he suddenly lifted his AR15 and the gunman who had his AK47 pointed at them collapsed on the table before him "-everyone here is trying to kill you."

The girl folded her arms and pouted. "I'm still not happy about this."

 _"Che tui!"_

And just as abruptly as they arrived, the Wolves tore themselves out of their skirmishes with the Nightmares and began to make it for the window. Grappling guns were fired and bodies went zipping across them, out of the building.

Solaris was just in time to catch sight of a figure in white racing towards the window. Sprinting forward, she extended a lasso of hair towards it. But the Chinese ganglord sliced through the light hair with his blade, shattering it. With a knowing smirk, he launched himself off the window.

In the background, she could hear the Nightmare cheering at their victory, and the remaining trapped guests sobbing in relief. But as the young heroine watched the White Peacock gliding himself to the safety of the opposite building, she couldn't help but feel as if this was all –

"A distraction." Flynn seemed to have read her thoughts. "But from what?"

Then it dawned on her. "Where's 13?"

The duo swung around, examining the remaining people left in the ballroom. There were many – far too many – lying unmoving at the feet of the tables, but the _Kumicho_ of the Nightmare Yakuza was not amongst them.

"Where did he go?"

"Well, wherever Pitch Black is, 13's gonna be."

The unlikely pair then raced their way out of the ballroom, ignoring the looks from the recovering guards and the stunned guests. Flynn did stop to snatch a pistol from one of the injured Nightmares though, saying, "Nice hat," then hurrying after the costumed girl.

~~~0~~~

"Hey, you're not-"

Hans shot him in the head before he could finish. The hooligan with the eye tattoos then promptly toppled backwards, just carpet décor like the rest of his peers. Even after consuming an unhealthy volume of alcohol, his mind was as sharp as a needle.

As he headed to the room of interest, the young lawyer paid the fallen bodies no mind. Upon kicking the door open, he found there was no one in sight. Still, he kept the pistol raised just in case.

"Merida?" he hissed in the darkness, moving as quickly as he could through the entrance hall. "Merida?" Where was that blasted girl?

He searched the living room, then headed for the bedroom. There was no sign of Merida anywhere, but he did find her stilettos kicked in a corner, along with the pink gown that she had been wearing. From the stretchmarks near the zips, she had been pretty close to ripping it off.

"Well, I suppose that answers the location question," he murmured as he threw down the wastefully expensive dress back onto the bed.

 _"Meow."_

He immediately pointed his gun towards the source of the sound, even if that source was just a black Bombay cat who looked very annoyed with him.

The man sighed, lowering the pistol. "Well, I see she left you behind too."

The cat seemed to be scowling, as much as a creature with whiskers could, at least. _"Me-oooow."_

"Come on, cat." Hans scooped the cat up in his free arm. Surprisingly, the beast made no protest. "We better get out of here before the roof collapses on us."

* * *

"Over here, _Kumicho-sama_."

They were taken to her father's private quarters in the hotel. As he was the owner and boss, the staff were obliged to reserve the best rooms of the Kurokuro for him. It also happened that these areas were also able to turn into panic rooms if required. Thus, here they were, waiting in one such room. It was the safest place they stay until the copter that they had called for arrived. Trying to leave the hotel any other way would be too risky.

The guards sealed the doors just as one of the attendants poured her father a cup of tea. Elsa herself sat at one of the chairs near the window – or at least, it was window until the protective shields rolled down. Her fingers were pressed against her forehead as she took deep breaths, trying to calm herself from all the earlier adrenaline.

 _Don't feel. Don't feel._

"Are you alright?" a soft, feminine voice inquired, concerned.

She lifted her head reluctantly, forcing herself to smile. "I'm fine, doctor. It's just nerves, that's all."

Dr. Kadni, or Tooth as she knew Flynn called her, had been the one to pull her to safety after the strange girl in pink showed up and distracted Shen. Somehow along the line, when the guards hustled her father and herself to safety, the elder woman ended up being dragged along with them. She probably counted herself fortunate to have escaped the crossfire, unlike the other guests, and was trying to make herself useful.

Frankly, Elsa would have much preferred if the woman just sat down and kept quiet. Tooth just kept watching her, as if she could hear the anxious thoughts fluttering through her head and the fear oozing from her –

No, no. That would be silly. She should stop thinking these kinds of things. It was only making her powers act up.

Deliberately gazing away from the dentist, Elsa watched as the guards discussed with her father the next course of action. An attendant was on the phone, no doubt communicating with the copter pilot on the best pick-up point. There was a landing pad on the roof, but it might be too dangerous to attempt that place, if the Wolves had flooded it.

Her eyes wandered over to the other Guards stationed around the entrance. She noticed one of the Guards, a scruffy-looking one pressing on his ear piece, frown before asking his colleague in Japanese, "Did you hear that?"

His colleague shook his head, expression doubtful.

"I think I'll go and check," the scruffy-looking guard answered at last, removing his pistol from its holster. He gestured to his colleague to open up the door. Just as his colleague spun about to reach for the control, however, the scruffy-looking guard shot him in the back.

Before anyone could really process what had just occurred, the guard had already fired against two more guards in the chest, and another two in the head. When one Nightmare lunged forward to stop him, the guard coolly grabbed his neck and snapped it, allowing that body to crumple itself to the floor.

Her father had risen to his feet in alarm just as the attendants keeled over, dead. As the scruffy-looking guard advanced towards her father, his appearance began to change. His face was replaced by a steel mask, with only the eyes hollowed out. Now, he adorned metal armour instead of the Kevlar that Nightmares usually wore, and his gun morphed instead a much longer, sleeker version of itself.

From his belt, he whipped a small, strange-looking pistol and pointed it at her father's head. "Haemorrhage yourself."

He squeezed the trigger.

* * *

 **S/N:**

 **This chapter took so long to be written because I rewrote Merida's flashback/ dream sequence not once, not twice, but five times. It's remarkable, because I had planned her backstory way before I had even nailed down who I wanted 13 to be. But actually writing it out - man, it's hard. Her backstory is essentially inspired by Batman's, except she does gets to keep one parent. I used to have this idea that Brave would have turned out so much cooler if Fergus had died in the beginning fight with Mor'du. I even wanted to write a story about that, but … that kind of died. So I kind of decided to put it in this story.**

 **Merida's part isn't the only to be re-written (a lot of scene were revised here), so this chapter took quite a while because of that. Just to note that there's character mentioned briefly to here in her flashback sequence from the a certain, slightly less popular Disney movie. He's not very important, just an involvement in Merida's backstory, so if you don't know who he is, it doesn't matter. I didn't use to the Witch in here for a specific plot-purpose.**

 **Oh, yeah, Hiccup has legit super powers. I mean, how do you think Toothless transform into a cat? Also, random ancient nordic words were just dug up from a website. It's not legit, so if you're time-travelling to ancient Viking times anytime soon, don't use those phrases.**

 **Up Next: Well, Gala Part 4. I genuinely don't know what's going to happen. I mean, I do, but at this point, I don't set anything in stone anymore.**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **This week's chapter title is presented by the Eurythmics.**

 **I really like music from the 80s, if you still can't tell. Electric Light Orchestra is pretty catchy apparently. They actually use some orchestral segments in their songs. I'm surprised and I don't know why.**

 **I don't what I was thinking when I started this story. I mean, it's crazy! I'm crazy! Why did I think it was a good idea to write some big epic superhero story in an extremely obscure and specific fandom? Why? WHY?**

 **Other than that, things are fine. They're not great just …fine.**

 **On a sidetone, I just want to comment on how odd that for the last chapter, the number of reviews just stopped at the strange number of 199. I was thinking to myself - oh, may it'd hit 2 in the hundreds' place now. But no, it stays at 199, and it just taunts me with its imperfect, horrid number. Creeping people out like that. Shame on you.**

 **Guest Mailbox:**

 **Guest1:(Aug8) More Elsa with the piano? I think that's a cool idea and see if I can squeeze in more. You know, if Elsa survives this arc. (I'm kidding. As you can tell, I'm not very good with killing off characters). I kind of liked my own intro of Elsa walking into the church too. Good job, past self!**

 **Past Self: No probs.**

 **Present Self: 0.0**

 **Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Ishidaismysavior: Cheers! I think the angst in the chapter was not as plentiful as it could have been. Made you feel sorry for Tooth? YESSSS. I would love to be paid for writing all this, but I admit that copyright is copyright, and removing this story from its fandom would ruin it, so ….it's here to stay. As free. Yep.**

 **Okay, now to time to go and burn something. Like… a candle. And then blow it out. And whatever. Because I'm badass enough to have unbirthday candles. Yeah.**

 **Up, Up,and Away!**

 **Review. Critique. Ask Questions.**

 **P.S. Oh, incidentally, have I ever mentioned where this story got its title? Like, ever? And how many people actually know where I got it from? Seriously?**

 **How much copyright infringement have I done exactly…?**

 **Guys, I'm a criminal, and if there was an absent of friction, I could quote a Michael Jackson song and add more charges to my record.**


	31. Chpt 30: Heal What Has Been Hurt

Chapter 30: Heal What Has Been Hurt – The Gala Part 4

* * *

5th July 1982. Day after Independence Day. Not that that actually matters because -

"You traitor!"

"You're the one who betrayed us!"

"I betrayed the individuals, yes, but never the principle. I did what you cowardly, weak-willed hypocrites refused to do – I confronted the enemy."

"You'd just killed hundreds of people, General - hundreds!" His old title slipped out, and he knew that she still regarded him with respect, but that respect wasn't enough to forgo the revulsion. "Some were your colleagues, others your subordinates. Why would you-"

"This system of _'heroes'_ -" he crushed the word between his teeth "-has been eroding our values under the guise of protecting us. You can't see it, you won't see it, but this power – it's getting to your heads. It makes you think that you heroes can do anything you want. That you're allowed to determine what's right and wrong! Don't you see the problem with that?"

"We're just trying to help. We-"

"Who are you really helping?" he cut in, gaze hardening. "The public, or yourselves?"

Any sympathy she had for him promptly vanished and suddenly her face was steel. Her violet eyes burned down at him with such intensity that he'd have shrunken away, if it wasn't for the braces that kept him hooked to the chair.

Very slowly, she told him, "There are many who think you should die for what you did. It's only our plea as 'heroes _'_ that _that_ will not happen. There's a price to pay, yes, but it's far less than you deserve."

He didn't appreciate this offering of mercy. Instead, he felt in him a growing disgust, building with each moment he considered the implications. "And here again, you think you determine what price is too high or too low. Judge, jury and executor," he sneered.

"I'm not an executor," she protested, feverish with self-righteousness. Of course she would say such, because everyone knew that the Guardians were nothing less than the upright, all-mighty wardens of Burgeshima. He cursed himself for ever thinking that this band of …of … _monsters_ might ever be heralds of peace. "I don't kill."

"Murder's not the worst crime in the world." Every scene on the battlefields played in his mind, and he hoped that she would pick up on them - that she would see, and know precisely what he said was the undeniable truth. "The worst crime one man can commit to another is to destroy his identity. To _carve it out_ , to _crush it_ , to _reform it_ into a hideous _mimicry_ of its old self. That's what you 'heroes' have done to this country."

She didn't give him a direct response, just like she hadn't before. Instead, she raised a hand towards him, the only sign of her hesitation in the quiver of her voice. "I'm sorry that I have to do this."

"You should be," he told her harshly. "Because I'm going to forget this – but you? You're going to remember it forever. It will never leave you, the way the trenches of Saigon never leave me."

He's no mind reader, but the uncertainty in her every action was screaming at him. She tried to inhale and exhale, get herself in the mood and mind for the horrific action that she was about to perform.

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Well, you might as well get on with it. I suppose if you're successful, there are some benefits on my side. The pain – that'll be gone." A dark chuckle rose from the back of his throat. "Yes, that, and everything that used to make me _me_."

Sweat was rolling off her forehead as she said, one final time, "I am really, really sorry about this."

The girl's mind stretched out towards his, pushing through the barrier that surround it. This intrusion made him cry out. She tried to be gentle, tried to pierce through the flakes of identity one by one, but with each second that dragged, her victim became more and more demented. His body convulsed in terrifying rhythm. The sounds from his throat bordered on demonic. His very spirit seemed to be wailing despair of what she was about to do.

When she looked down into his memories, the interlocking fragments of experience, sensation, cognition and emotion, each so precious and fragile in their uniquely irreplaceable way, she couldn't bring herself to touch them.

But yet, if she didn't, it may be a hundred more who would die. So she did what she had to do.

What _she_ perceived she had to do, I mean, rather than what her superiors had actually told her to do.

After the delicate procedure was done, she had confessed only to her fellow Guardians what she had removed – all classified government data and anything pertaining to their secret identities. She could have done more, as her superiors had demanded, but his words had shaken her. And in a way, they were truth, and her fellow Guardians were extremely understanding.

But being understanding didn't mean a smidgen against the consequences – those accursed consequences. Due to her choice – choice being a nicer word for 'humongous and world-altering mistake' - it meant that he had remembered three very important things.

One; someone had tampered with his memories.

Two; he had once had a family, and he had lost them in the most tragic of circumstances.

Three; the identity of person responsible for those circumstances.

When he was released back into the world, deemed by his wardens to be 'harmless now', they had not realised that they had released a plague upon the world; one for which there was no cure.

* * *

"Tea?"

Merida accepted the proffered drink. She was no fan of tea, but after the shower she was feeling pretty cold. The warm liquid was soothing to the throat, and sent a pleasant warmth down her chest.

She was draped in some loose robes, sitting cross-legged on a wooden chair. This piece of clothing was lent to her by her hosts at this temple, or dojo, or whatever. Her wet-hair was wrapped in a towel and her feet were bare, for she hadn't worn the sandals that they had given her. Her costume, which had been soaked to the bone, was hanging out in the courtyard.

Peace Valley was in every sense a suburban town, with its winding roads, its sparsely-distributed population and the distinct sense of going back in time. Its most distinguishing factor however was the influence of its Chinese-born pioneers, who had set down the first brick back in the eighteen twenties, and had constructed a site that seemed to have been lifted straight out a watercolour painting.

Just after the dip of valley where the main town was, there was a towering stretch of mountains that could rival the Rockies, just being far more pleasant appearance. There on its lowest peak was the architectural jaw-dropper known as the 'Jade Palace', except the elegant estate had no kings, or even wealthy owner.

No, apparently it was some kind of martial arts school. In the middle of nowhere. Yeah.

She would have never known the existence of such a place if Jinketsu hadn't directed her to take them there. After she had teleported the three of them – four, if you count the robot – out of the Nightmare King's very evil and very creepy lair, the boy hero from San Fransokyo managed to regain his senses. Hiccup, however, remained non-responsive.

They couldn't take him to the hospital, and his people at home didn't have the resources to deal with it. So that was when Jinketsu told her of this place. They weren't his allies, but Hiccup's, and hopefully that would be enough to earn some aid.

She had no qualms about delivering the one-legged boy to those that could help him – she didn't like him, but she didn't wish him death either. But as it happened, she had teleported them in the large lotus lake at the back of the Palace. They didn't drown, but they had been soaked to the bone, and not to mention destroyed lots and lots of lotus plants. Being drenched on a freezing night like this would have sent them down with a cold, if the residents of the palace hadn't been so efficient.

Speaking of the palace's mysterious inhabitants, Merida wasn't sure what to make of them. Most of them had appearances that leaned more towards an East Asian origin, though of what specific ethnicities, she couldn't tell. The attire they were garbed in was not exactly old-fashioned, but it was very plain, very loose and rather shapeless. They could have very easily resembled monks if they all went bald. They didn't talk much to her, only asking how she felt and whether she needed more clothes, and would she please take off her cape unless she wanted to catch a cold?

That had been the most difficult article for her to surrender. After all, having no mask, the cape was the only barrier between the Will-O-Wisp and Merida Dunbroch. She had only agree to shedding it after much persuasion on Jinketsu's part. The compromise had come through by getting her to wrap her head up and wear a thick-rimmed pair of sun-shades. The former alone could probably do the trick, Jinketsu had whispered to her, since her bronze curls was most prominent feature.

Hence, her present position, wrapped up in towels and donning a pair of sunglasses. If this was a beach instead of a temple-dojo-palace-thing, she'd fit right in.

"How're you doing?" The boy hero sat down on the chair across hers, with only a tea table dividing them. It was a little hard to face each other, since the two chairs faced the thin, flappy doors instead of the table. But he just crossed his legs and spun himself about, leaning back on the arm of the chair whilst facing her.

Deciding grudgingly she should be polite, the girl copied his position, placing her half-empty tea cup on the table. "I'm alright, I guess."

"Oh, same," Jinketsu echoed, but even with her tinted view, she could see he didn't really mean it. He hadn't bothered with the get-up the way she did, which left her in clear view of his haggard, skinny form. The hand holding his own cup was shaking so badly that she eventually reached out and snatched it from him. "Hey!"

She plopped the cup down onto the table, raising her shades briefly. There was no one else in the room that they were, and she wanted to stare at him head-on anyway. After her examination, Merida drew herself back, asking without any preamble, "What did you see?"

"See? See what?" He faked a laugh.

She rolled her eyes as she dropped the glasses back on. How stupid did he think she was? "Back in the castle, under the sand's influence."

He refused to meet her gaze.

The girl pressed harder "That's how it works, right? It makes us see things, and I saw yours. There was fire, and a guy in a ninja mask, or something."

"And yours was a bear," was his quiet answer.

She ignored the hidden question behind his statement. If he wasn't going to explain the fire, she wasn't going to explain the bear. "So are they like, what, our fears? I mean, I guess he's called the Nightmare King, but that sand? That's-"

"He's a phobiapath."

She crooked a brow at him. "Come again?"

"It's a term dubbed way back some reporters," the boy defended, clearly wanting to distance himself from the strange name. "He's kind of like a telepath, except that he operates largely by manipulating fear. He digs them out of people, and then he makes them real."

"With the black sand?"

Jinketsu nodded.

"And then he kills them?"

"They used to think that the manifested versions of the sand – that is, the bear for you, and the fire for me – was the killer, but then, when the Guardians began rescuing more of his victims, they later found out that they'd die from Nightmare-induced stress a few months later."

Merida stared at him. Scepticism thick in her voice – "Nightmare-induced stress."

"Yes."

"As in … bad dreams. At night. When you sleep."

"Yes."

"That's ridiculous."

"I used to think so to, until," he pressed his two hands together, rubbing them uneasily "until tonight."

The redhead shook her head. "Okay, that weird tidbit aside, why didn't you mention all this info earlier on before we went into the castle?"

"Because I thought you knew. I mean,-" the boy hero furrowed his brows "-don't you research the criminals you hunt _before_ you actually hunt them?"

Merida opened her mouth to retort, then pursed it back up.

It was Jinketsu's turn to raise a brow at her.

"Well, I do sometimes," she muttered, scratching the wood of her chair, flushing red, "when I think it's important."

He merely deadpanned her.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"Whatever. Shut up."

With their attentions successfully diverted from the original, more serious topics, both found themselves relaxing in the warm room, drinking their warm tea. But silence should never be mistaken for peace. The boy's face down-turned lip made it clear what occupied his thoughts, and she knew in the back of her own mind, a shadow loomed.

"When do you think the costumes will dry out?" Merida was of course referring more to her costume than his, since she had figured that her smallish companion's armour didn't need to be dried at all. It was probably waterproof.

He glanced briefly towards the door, humming. "Three hours, I guess? Why? Heading back to the hotel?"

"Yeah."

"But…you don't need the costume to teleport, right?"

"No, but it's better the Wisp seen teleporting into my room than myself, right?"

Jinketsu seemed to think about it. "Fair enough. But what about your babysitter? I mean, if he was calling earlier, I reckon he knows you're missing."

"Right." The redhead bit her lip. "And I dropped my phone at the Nightmare headquarters."

"You remember his number?"

"No."

"Ah." Her companion scratched the damp black spikes of his, which had flattened out into black strips. "Well, if you have your cloud password and stuff, you can drop him a message. I'm sure the folks here would lend you a laptop if you ask."

She just stared at him blankly.

"You really don't know how to do a lot of stuff, do you?"

Merida couldn't bring herself to answer.

"Do you even remember my name?"

"…Shut up."

* * *

 _Haemorrhage_ \- to undergo heavy or uncontrollable bleeding. Largely used as a noun, but can it be used as a verb?

For example:

 _She was haemorrhaging in her oesophagus, giving the doctors no choice but to operate._

 _He began haemorrhaging and_ _vomiting_ _due to an infection in his gut._

 _The man was haemorrhaging in the chest, and he loss unconsciousness as a result._

Albeit awkward, but the answer is yes. Yes, _haemorrhage_ can be used as a verb. But this is the right answer to the wrong question. The question you should be asking is - what happens after one, well, haemorrhages?

 _Chit-chink!_

 _Click._

 _Bang!_

 _"_ _No!"_

The bullet flew, and the Nightmare King didn't move. Perhaps in his proud mind, he had never considered such a situation. Which was sort of odd, since a man of his stature had many enemies who have tried to ... _'_ _haemorrhage'_ him before. But then again, the word was 'tried', because all those attempts had failed for one simple reason.

It wasn't due to his array of impressive bodyguards. I mean, look, the ones in this scene were already out of commission. It wasn't his powers too, because as great as his powers, they depended on how his own mind worked, and thus, how fast it could work. No, the thing that gave him the power was in fact what made him unkillable. Simple enough.

But if you found this _thing_ \- this thing that gave him the power and made him unkillable - repackaged it, stabilised it in the form of a bullet, then fed it back to him, tell me, what do you think would happen?

If you're waiting for an answer, you're not going get one. I mean, I've never done this before, so I have no idea how it's gonna pan out.

 _ssssssssssssshhhHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNKKKKkkkkkkkkkkkk!_

Ice spurted from her bare hand, flying across the room. There was no time for her to make a more substantial defence, for her action had been on impulse. There was no time to create a thick wall of crystal, the way she often did when she needed to defend herself against other bullets. Nope, she could only pray that somehow, somehow this will be enough.

It was only after the shattering ice had cleared was she able to see the results. The bullet had not passed through her father's skull, but instead went through his top right chest, near the shoulder. He clutched the wound and staggered back, gazing down at the growing stain on his black _kimono_. He lifted his hand, expression incredulous when he saw crimson marking his palm.

Elsa didn't miss a beat, tearing off her other glove as she raced across the room. The fear that had been building in her all week was pushing against her muscles, tensing up, all ready to explode. She stretched her palm towards the vigilante in the metal armour.

In the sights of her incoming ice blast, 13 didn't move, only raising his arms to shield his face. Well, his folly, because the blast froze him to the spot, trapping him in his frost-crusted armour.

The girl then hurried over to her father, who still staring at his blood-stained hand. "Are you alright?"

He didn't look at her, only turning his hand over and gazing down at the wound of his chest. He murmured, disbelieving, "I don't understand."

"We need to get you to a hospital." This was no time for hesitation, so if he couldn't be the clear-headed one, she would be. "We need to get you to the pad." Elsa looped her arm under his own when she noticed his stance faltering. In the corner of her vision, she noticed Dr. Kadni creeping forward, unabashedly gawking at her father.

Feeling a little irritated, she barked, "Help me!"

Only then did the dentist hurry forwards, taking up her father's arm. Elsa heard him grunt, and saw his dazed expression. She told him, "Just hold on a little. We'll get out of here soon, just you-"

 _Crrrcck. Crrrcckk. Crrrccccccck!_

She spun around, and saw the cracks on the ice. And then –

 _CCCCRRAAACCCCCCCKKKK-BOOOOOOOOOOM!_

Ice shrapnel flew everywhere, causing them to drop all to the ground to protect themselves. She heard Dr. Kadni whimpering, and her father's groaning as he grabbed against his chest once more. Elsa spun around in time to see the vigilante, now free from the ice-casing, swinging towards her. The two barrels of his pistols were aimed at her head.

"Get my father out of here!" Elsa hollered, raising a large, thick ice shield just as bullets came flying towards them.

Dr. Kadni asked no questions, lifting her father to his feet and dragging him towards the exit. Elsa focused on spreading her ice shield wider, thickening it up. She could feel his bullets coming down faster, however, and knew eventually that they would wear down her.

 _BOOOOOOMMMMMFFFF!_

She was thrown back abruptly as the grenade went off. Her ice shield lying in shards upon her dress and her face, cutting scratches into her skin. Elsa pushed herself up, ignoring the pain, especially the splitting ache running up her bandaged back. She saw 13 changing his weapons again, back to the small gun. This, he aimed at the escaping duo, particularly the male of the pair.

Elsa gritted her teeth as she sent a blast straight towards the vigilante. He dodged it, and in doing so, lost his chance at a shot as the doors drew open. Dr. Kadni, thank goodness, managed to hurry her father out of the room.

Cursing, 13 slotted that special gun back into his holster, then the hollowed eyes of his metal mask bore down on the girl who thwarted him

Gulping down her saliva, Elsa scurried to her feet. In her mind, she formed a katana, its frost-covered blade growing before her eyes. Her dress she transformed into some armoured clothes, like those that 13 was wearing.

The vigilante regarded her weapon with a curious look, before whipping out a baton, jerking his wrist to extend it to a full staff. His masked head tilted slightly to the left, as if to ask, _'Really?'_

She placed her two hands on the handle of her ice katana and tried not to tremble.

The first strike came from the vigilante, fast smooth strokes that threatened to lop her head, blade or no blade. No quarter was given - stab, slash, stroke, over and over, and driving her back. Elsa tried to gain back the ground, but before she could chance any attack, she was forced always forced to block whatever he threw at her. When his staff collided with her stomach, she winced as the wound on her back flared up.

Instead of being hindered by the pain, she felt anger well in chest. With speed she couldn't recognise, she struck him hard. He blocked, but she didn't care. She swung the katana down, and down. Each clash produced a flash of light, with frosting starting to climb on the extended baton. Two hands on the katana, she slashed diagonally, knocking him at the side of his masked head.

For a brief moment, 13 seemed to be disorientated. Then just as suddenly, he shook it off. His pole struck her hands unexpectedly, making her loose her grip on her the katana. Before she could take a new action, she found herself pinned to the wall, held pack by the pole pressing on her throat.

"You're too full of guilt," his voice emerging from the harsh filtered mocked her.

She tried to summon another ice blast to knock him off his feet. But he stabbed the pole harder in her throat, making her grab onto it. As if such a meagre action could determine anything.

"Your father has to pay for his crimes," the vigilante told her casually over the sounds of her choking. "I had no plans for killing you – not yet, at any rate. But now that you're in my way, well… that places in me in a tight spot."

Elsa couldn't answer him, because her vision was starting to go spotty. Wheezing, she tried to raise one of her hands at him, but for some reason she felt weak – just too weak to make that blast.

13 cocked his head at her. "I'm sorry for what you've gone through." His tone was oddly gentle, but his grip on his staff didn't falter. "You can't help what you did, but wrong's wrong. Blood cries to me, you know, and I have to fix it." His free hand reached for his belt, pulling out on one of his long, sleek pistols. "Don't worry, I'll make this as painless as possible."

Maybe he said something else, but her consciousness was already being sucked from her. Her eyes rolled back as her breaths grew thinner and thinner. The pain from her back was hurting so much that she could feel her body shutting down just in response to it. In the background, she heard him cocking his gun.

Though her body instinctively writhed like a worm on a hook, her mind pondered about whether it might be okay to just let go, and just let him, you know.

A bullet in the brain. Haemorrhage. _Die_. Would it be so bad?

She would never see Anna again, but Anna would be safe. There'd be no reason to come back to Burgeshima anymore. She'd return to Arenashi, and forget about her. And it'd be okay.

Elsa barely noticed when the vigilante lost his grip on her and when her body slid down onto snow-littered ground. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and her head lolled back against the wall.

* * *

"There!"

The two burst into the hotel suite together, Solaris armed with her long, luminous hair and her light-constructed frying pan – or as she called, Light-Pan – while Flynn was armed with his stolen pistol. When they saw the vigilante pinning a woman down with a pole whilst pointing a gun at her, the young heroine's blood boiled itself over.

Her coil of gold hair flew forward and snatched the pole from the vigilante's hand while Flynn fired at him. The former action released his hold on the woman, letting her slid to ground, but latter did nothing, for the bullets had bounced off the armour like rubber balls.

The mask with hollowed holes for eyes slowly turned towards them, the dark cloak whipping ominously behind. Chills ran down Rapunzel's skin underneath her suit, but she gulped it down and stared down her foe, the way heroes did.

"You," was all 13 said to her. His gaze shifted to Flynn, and though she couldn't see his face, she would have thought he'd be raising his eyebrow. "And _you_? Seriously?"

"Yes," the brunette thief answered, calmly refilling his magazine. "Full disclosure – I'm a fan of your work. But killing a hotel full of people? That's kind of low."

The vigilante's armoured shoulder plated bobbed up and down when he shrugged. "I've done worst to less heinous villains, sooo, no. It makes perfect sense."

Rapunzel could see Flynn seething by her side. "You're one heck of a self-righteous-" _a long string of crude vulgarities_ "- aren't you?"

She could hear 13 snorting behind the mask. "It's not a matter of self-righteousness, or any of those other fine qualities that you've stated. It's simply justice."

"And who are you to pick what's justice and what ain't?" Flynn sneered with surprisingly vehemence. Honestly, she surprised that he cared at all.

"Look, Mr. 13," she interjected, fearing that her companion might not-quite-accidentally trigger the vigilante into a murderous rage. "I get that you want to rid corruption and, well, all that. I agree that it's needed. But you can't do it by killing the ones responsible. It'd make you just like -"

 _"_ _Them?"_ he finished for her abruptly. There was something about the black holes in the mask that seemed to see right through her, threatening to swallow her whole. "I'd give half my mind to be like them – in certain ways. But I'm not. And I don't think you understand, Little Miss Sunshine." 13 flung his cloak back, whipping out the twin to the gun he wielded. He cocked the two pistols, pointing them her way. "The only way to deal with these kind of people is to kill them, and even that's too much mercy."

The girl frowned as she looped her luminous hair in her hands, twirling it into a loop as she took a fighting stance. "Please reconsider. I'd rather not hurt you."

A choppy snicker escaped from behind the metal mask.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Solaris swerved herself out of the way, ducking down as she launched a lock of hair towards her foe. It wrapped itself around 13's metal-plated leg, but when she tugged on it, he didn't budge. Instead, he merely adjusted his aim and she just managed to cartwheel away in time. Seeing that she had to change her tactic, she threw the Light Pan at him, landing a surprisingly hard _'thwack!'_ upon the metal mask.

She saw Flynn sneak up along the back, grabbing the staff that 13 had dropped earlier and used to whack the vigilante in head. His strikes were relentless and merciless, only ceasing when the armoured man – if he was a man – managed to dodge one incoming blow. Grabbing the end of staff closest to him, he jerked from Flynn's grip. Before the brunette could react, he had been thrown across the room, crashing into a cabinet.

"Flynn!" Crying his name out was all that she could afford.

Rapidly, Rapunzel slid herself across the snow-littered room, hand still holding to the lock of hair intertwined around the vigilante's leg. Summoning another tendril of gold to grow, she shot it towards the 13's arm and pulled it tight. When he tried to twist around and take aim at her, she yanked on the cord, keeping him from doing so. Whenever he tried to turn right, she yanked the cord on his left arm. When he tried to turn left, she yanked the cord on his right leg. The only thing he could turn was his head, and when his hollowed mask turned to face her, she shot him a triumphant grin.

"If you surrender now, I'll put in a good word for you," Solaris offered cheerfully.

Instead of answering, 13's head spun back in front, but his right arm he lifted over his shoulder, cocking his pistol at her. No warning before the first – 'BANG!'

She rolled out of the way in time. Though he wasn't looking at her, the random ricochet of his endless supply bullets made the environment very hostile indeed. She needed to incapacitate her opponent fast. The eyes behind her pink mask caught sight of the twirling chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Just at that moment, 13 stopped firing at her. However, he did so to whip out a knife. In one smooth motion, he sliced through the cord around his elbow. The girl hero gasped as the luminous strands in one hand disappeared.

Just as the vigilante made it to slice off the binds on his right leg, Solaris summoned up all the will she could, forming the image in her mind. She felt the energy bubbling in her, rising in heights, drawing towards the edge of a cliff. There was pressure building within her, and the laws of physic demanded that she… _let…_

Her entire being had gained an unearthly glow.

… _go._

Ten, no, twenty - or more! - tendrils of yellow hair sprouted from the back of her head, dancing eerily in the dark as if each cluster possessed their own consciousness. Whipping through the air like arrows, each cord shot upwards and the vigilante seemed surprised they shot into the chandelier instead of at him. Well, cords did thread themselves through the chandelier, but only to rapidly launch themselves towards him promptly after.

13 managed to cut through two of the cords, but the numbers overwhelmed him eventually, latching themselves onto anything they could – arms, legs, even his forehead. He wriggled, he writhed, and that was when Solaris leapt forward, pushing herself off the ground. Her right leg shot up and struck hard against the side of chandelier, before she landed on the ground and took a steady stance.

At that moment, the armoured vigilante found the yellow, glowing ropes spinning themselves onto him, like wool being spun on a spinning wheel. The force of the movement itself was enough to lift him off the ground – complete in his entangled state. The more the chandelier twirled, the tighter binds became and Rapunzel could hear his armoured groaning as the cocoon around him squeezed more and more.

She managed to produce one last tendril and shot it towards the chandelier. The spinning stopped, and there stood before her the vigilante, wrapped in swathe after swathe of golden hair like a present. He was clearly trying to escape, but her bizarre trap him had clearly left him without strategy and without success.

"It's over, 13," Solaris panted out. She hadn't realised how exhausting the whole endeavour was until now. "I've got you, and now there's nothing you can do."

The hollowed holes in the mask jerked themselves her towards her, and she had to force herself not to take a step back. Though she was trembling, the girl still straightened her back and folded her arms. She tried to imagine what Mother would say if she's in this position. "It's your own fault for being so unreasonable about this, you know."

"You think turning me over to the police would stop me?" the jarring, scratchy voice rasped out, making her flinch – she was quick to hide it though. "You don't understand, kid. You have no idea who I am or what I do."

"Y-you're a criminal," Rapunzel retorted, trying to steady her voice. Oh, why, of all times to falter did it have to be right in front of a mass murderer - and a murderer that she had incapacitated all on her own? If Mother were here… "You may have the right intentions, I grant you that, but your method is completely off!"

" _My_ method is the _only_ method," he snapped back, voice almost ascending into a growl. "You don't understand evil – how deeply-rooted it is in this city, in the very consciousness of its people. It cannot be contained and eradicated."

"But not by killing more people! That's just-" she grappled for the words "-plain _wrong_."

"You've a rather idealistic view of what's right and wrong," the vigilante hissed. "You think you can be like the heroes of the Golden Age; righteous, yet tolerant; just, yet merciful. Well, there's a reason the Golden Age ended, and we're the generation left in its place." 13 spat contemptuously. "Left in this Godforsaken cesspool of violence and lies. Tell me-" his sharp movement made the chandelier above shake, making her gasp against her will "-when will you acknowledge that everything you are is just a lie?"

"I'm not a lie!" was the baffled response that the blonde provided. "Nor am I lying either."

"Is that so?" 13 mocked. "Then why do I see guilt laced in every inch of your being, lies woven into the very fabric of your identity?"

Solaris frowned severely at him, wiping the sweat trickling down her forehead. "If you think feeding me all this nonsense is going to throw me off, you're wrong."

"It's up to you to decide whether it's nonsense, but do note – I'm a specialist of guilt. It's my job to identify it." He made a vague shrugging. "Anyway, I don't need to throw you off."

She was about to ask what he meant, when it hit her.

Her costume was soaked with sweat; the material not being very absorbent. It made her aware of painfully uncomfortable her current state of body was. Constructing her light-hair was usually quite a visceral action for her, but the sudden and highly energised state of the hair that she had created to bind her foe had been costly. With the hotel largely working on emergency power now, there was hardly enough electrical energy for her to route it into her constructs. That meant that in order to maintain the solid nature of her light-hair, she was drawing energy from herself.

Eventually, when her strength was sufficiently drained, self-preservation in her body would kick in and the hair would dissolve. 13 would be free, and she wouldn't have the power, or any energy, to even _move_.

Considering how her knees were buckling and her hands were getting clammy, that scenario might happen fairly soon.

"It was great having this chat with you, Rapunzel." His use of her real name made her head jerk up, even though the muscles in her body protested. "Maybe the next time we meet, you might have learned how incredibly stupid your current philosophy is. Who know, we might even be-"

 _SHHHHHHWWREEEEEEECCCCKKK!_

All her light strands suddenly dissolve around her. She didn't even have enough strength to maintain the illusion of her normal length blonde hair, returning her back to her brunette pixie cut. Rapunzel sucked in tight breath as she tried to focus on the sight before her, and if it were possible, she would have swallowed her tongue in the shock.

The metal-armoured body of the vigilante stood before her, and just the body. The metal mask with hollowed eyes was rolling on the floor, along with the head attached to it. Gravity then called the lifeless, decapitated body to join its missing partner down where it belong, and it landed at its final resting place with a rather undignified _plop!_

Standing over the divided pieces was Flynn, breathing heavily. In his hands was some kind of Japanese-styled sword, its unnaturally white-blue blade now splattered with a deep scarlet. The rogue then tossed his weapon away, rubbing his hands together, muttering, "Frost-bite."

He then spun to her, and his expression turned concerned. "You alright?"

The young heroine didn't answer, for her eyes were still glued on the scene before her. 13's iconic armour had melted itself away, including his dark, hole-eye mask. All that remained was a limp body wrapped in the suit that most Nightmare guards wore, and a face unfamiliar to her caught in an expression of horror.

She felt a sharp lurch in her stomach and she covered her mouth.

"Blondie?" Flynn was drawing up to her side. "I mean, I could call you Brownie now, but then it'd sound like you're some Girl Scout pastry."

His joke could not take her attention from the sight before her, and before she knew it, she had keeled over and was spewing her guts out onto the expensive carpet below.

"Whoa, whoa!" The man jumped back, clearly flabbergasted. Well, too bad. She had no time to care about his comfort when her own was being so severely assaulted. Even after the bout ended, Rapunzel still felt a dark, looming shadow settling over her as her gaze fell once again to the two-part corpse.

Horror transformed into rage, and she shot to her feet, wiping her mouth roughly with her glove. She stabbed a finger into the gangster's face. "You!"

His eyes flit from her finger to her, both stunned and wary. "Me?"

"I told you not to kill!" the girl yelled at him with more ferocity than she had ever thought she possessed. She gestured towards the fallen body. "You might've just killed an innocent man!"

"Innocent?" Flynn repeated, incredulous. "Well, if that guy's down there,-" he pointed towards the bloodied head, which made her want puke all over again "-is 13, then he's no innocent. And if he's just as an average Nightmare guard, then, heck! He's definitely no innocent. So don't go around throwing accusations like that."

"You killed 13," she murmured to herself, not really paying attention to his rant. "If you killed him, means I can't ever bring him in – can't bring him to justice. I can't take the credit for this. I'm not a murderer. I can't be a murderer – not like him. This is wrong, wrong, wrong…"

The thief's brow furrowed. "Oh, so I'm a murderer now, hey?"

Solaris spun sharply towards him. "Do you want to deny what you'd just did?"

He took one silent step towards her, then another, forehead creasing deeper each time. " _I_ -" he punctuated each word, _"-Saved. Your. Life_."

"In the wrong way," she argued, yet some of her fire had gone out.

"You think a guy who's massacred entire gangs is going to come quietly with you?" Flynn shot back, face reddening. "You tried to do it your way, but guess what? Your way was failing, and _he_ knew it! And _I_ stopped him." He slammed a fist against his chest. " _I'm_ the hero this round, _Rapunzel_."

The girl flinched when she heard him spit out her real name, as if it were a curse. And in that moment, she felt as if a curse had fallen on her, for she had never been so full of such despair and confusion as she had in this moment. When the vigilante had been alive, he had taunted her with her with odd comments and scathing sneers that she didn't understand. And now, with how circumstances had played out, she wasn't sure what to think of it.

So the young self-declared heroine remained standing in the trashed, cold and wet hotel suit, hugging her elbows, as her seething companion began to examine the corpse. In the corner of her vision, she noticed the unconscious young woman that 13 had been attacking earlier had disappeared, but she couldn't bring herself to care about it.

* * *

"In here, _Kumicho-sama_."

He allowed himself to be led to yet another dark, empty hotel suite, mostly because he couldn't really resist at this point. "We need to get to the landing pad. The helicopter would be arriving soon."

"The vigilante knows that we'll be heading there," his small companion told him as she carefully shut the door behind them. On his own, Pitch managed to limp down from the entrance hall into the living room, hissing whenever his wound was jostled.

The feeling of pain was not completely foreign to him, but the extent that he felt right now was. Which should be odd, because back in his service days, he'd been hurt far worse. Perhaps it had been too long since he had been forced to confront his mortality. In fact, he had forgotten that he was, in fact, mortal at all.

As he settled himself on a nearby chair, Pitch noted that the young dentist – well, young compared to himself, he supposed – bore a rather conflicted expression, as if debating heavily with herself on something. His brush against her mind however gave him no revelation of what that debate was about. Actually, he couldn't feel her mind at all, which was peculiar, since he could read it so clearly before.

"Don't supposed you could get something to patch this up?" He gestured pointedly at the wound. That seemed have roused Dr. Kadni from her confused reverie, and she began searching the room for anything that might be used as a bandage.

As Pitch waited, he peered down at the ugly patch of black and red. Gritting his teeth together, he stabbed into his two right fingers into the hole, grunting as pain shook the very core of his body. Yet, he did not relent as he pushed through the flesh, seeking out the deadly device that had pierced him. He eventually felt something smooth and hard, so he clamped onto each side it with his fingers, using them like tweezers. He began drawing his hand back slowly, stopping once when the agony of it almost blinded him. He did return to the task nonetheless, letting out sharp, short breaths until the harrowing projectile was removed.

Still heaving deeply, Pitch's gaze fell to the bloodied bullet in his hand. It was unlike any bullet he had seen, and he had seen a good many over the last sixty years. Its exterior appeared to be largely transparent but thicker than glass, and this was cracked now. The interior was hollow and perhaps it once contained something -something that was probably inside him now.

In his distraction, he hadn't noticed that, while occupied with his self-surgery, the good doctor had gone missing. He carefully rose to his feet, glancing around him with a frown as he slipped the bullet into his pocket. "Dr. Kadni," he called out, suspicion growing in him, "are you there?"

There was no answer. When he reached out with his mind, he couldn't find anyone in around him, not even in the other rooms of the suite. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

The odds were against him, but he felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck, felt the shadows dwelling in him jerking into a certain direction. He was about to turn around when a green scarf came down over his head and secured itself around his neck, making him choke back his shock. He was yanked abruptly back down onto the arm chair and a shimmering, emerald-hilted dagger was raised over his head.

Even in the great intensity of his pain, Pitch Black was no weakling. His mind, as sharp as ever, pushed against the force that had him in its grip, flinging it back and with it, the dagger too. He threw himself to his seat, ripping the embroidered scarf – the _saree_ \- from his neck as he gazed down at the culprit.

And he couldn't understand it. "Doctor?"

Her elegantly-adorned hair was falling from her head, and with her saree ripped away, she was left only in her rumpled petticoat and her blouse. She ripped off the gold-pins from her head, throwing them nonchalantly aside before lifting her petticoats above her knees, tying the excess fabric around her waist. The curved dagger she had been holding had vanished, but that didn't stop her from charging towards him. It was at that moment he realised he wasn't talking to the dentist, but a warrior.

A twin of scimitars manifested in her grip, and she slashed them at him. He felt there was something strangely familiar about her action, but he put the questions to rest as he formed his weapon of his own to meet psychedelic gleam of her blades met the terse black of his scythe with a loud _'clang!'_

Dr. Kadni was undeterred by his timely block however. She simply drew herself back by a step, readjusted her grip, then began slashing forward over and over, left then right in rapid succession. The sickle of shadows he swung in time against her strikes, angling himself out of the way from her deathly blades. With each motion, he jostled his injury, but the confusion and anger swelling within him assuaged the searing pain. The fighting skills that he had accumulated over the years kicked in to full power and he managed to push her back when her blades locked themselves against the length of his scythe.

"Why?" Pitch demanded. Simultaneously, his mind stretched towards her, seeking for out her emotions. He could feel vague notion of rage, a little fear, but all of it seemed to be obscured by a fog. Was she… _shielding_ herself from him?

Dr. Kadni broke from the lock, ducking down as she lunged her right scimitar at him. He twisted himself out of the way and caught that blade with the end of his scythe, and the left one he trapped with his own curved blade, allowing him to gaze straight into her violet eyes and holler, "WHY?"

And then it occurred to him – _violet eyes_.

Pitch didn't know why this revelation hadn't hit him before, because it was so glaringly obvious. In fact, those eyes had glared at him before – at that moment when she had delved into his mind and stolen from him.

" _You, you traitor!"_

 _"_ _I am really, really sorry about this."_

"It's you," he breathed, and just like that, everything clicked – her disappearing and reappearing weaponry, the style of battle, the haunting familiarity that he couldn't place. And, oh, the detestation was roused in him. It was so consuming, so delicious and yet so bitter. It was like being awaken from a nightmare, only to realise that reality was the real nightmare.

Some reunions of long estranged old friends would be full of delight, others with warmth, and some awkwardness. But this – this was full of hate. Hate with a darkness that shadows could only envy.

The uncertainty in his movement was swapped for pure determination. His scythe broke from its lock with the weapon as he drew on the shadows, on the lingering fears of those in the building. He drew on the fears of those that were watching the smoking hotel from a distance, bewildered and afraid. The scythe, he dropped. It was an ornament in the face of his true power, after all.

His opponent had not stopped to consider why he had discarded his weapon, foolishly raising her sabres towards his head. Her arrogance was her downfall, because in focusing her thoughts on attack, she forgot defense.

The scream that she released when his psyche penetrated hers was extremely satisfying. Her scimitars lost their substance, disappearing entirely. She was clutching her head, screaming and writhing, and oh, it felt _good_! _So, so good_. Her vulnerabilities and fears fed him like fuel to a fire, and he revelled in it, soaking it in. But mostly, it was just watching her suffer that made him irrevocably … _joyous_.

When her cries of pain died to a whimper, he stepped towards her. Just that act alone incited within her so much feeling of guilt, horror and fear, making him burst out in laughter. His bony fingers tilted her chin up, digging their tips into her flesh. The largeness of eyes, the way her jaw fell open, the turmoil swirling in her head – oh, who cared if he was mortally wounded? The gods had granted him a feast!

"Remember that time I ripped your mind to shreds, Tooth?" Pitch mocked, a sadistic gleam in his taunting gaze. "Well, there's nothing quite like reliving the good days."

* * *

The hotel had been become peculiarly empty.

And the word 'peculiar' was used, because just minutes ago, he had been wrestling hooligans left, right, centre, but now? He was alone. Very much, and very creepily, he was all alone.

The emergency lights of the corridor were flickering, and though he knew it irrational, Jack clutched his staff tersely. His tight outer coat had already discarded, for he considered it more a hindrance than an aid against the metaphorical chill building around him.

He took the turning to the right, where he was greeted by, unsurprising, yet another row of closed doors. He jogged down the corridor, careful to keep his steps soft less he warn some hidden enemy of his location. He moved with great care, even dampening the sounds of his breaths in case that earned him any attention. With all the closed doors around him though, he couldn't be sure exactly of when someone would come popping out.

 _"Ja-ack,"_ came a call in a sing-song manner.

The boy swung around, staff raised intent on destruction. However, there was no one there. Cautiously, he decided to resume his previous method of his action, only to hear once more –

 _"Ja-ack."_

It sounded feminine, sort of light. It wasn't Tooth. It sounded younger, and he had this weird feeling like while it felt like it was saying his name, that name wasn't really 'Jack'.

If you haven't understood the previous sentence, don't be alarmed. He didn't either.

 _"_ _Ja-ack?"_ This time he caught the direction of its origin, and that's when he swung back down to the corridor that he had just passed. There was an echo reverberating up down a walkway that he had skipped over the last time, so he sprinted in that direction, feet almost flying off the ground. He felt himself being drawn to one of the doors, so he crept silently up to it. Just as he was about to touch the knob, the door creaked itself open on its own. The beckoning was as eerie as it was obvious.

Knowing he was stepping straight into a trap, Jack entered staff first, cautiously examining the ground below him. Everything around him felt dark – too dark to be normal. Indeed, when he looked into the blackness, he was pretty sure the blackness was looking back.

And the door shut itself squarely behind him, and the shadows seemed to swallow it up.

He'd be frightened if he wasn't so mad. Pointing his staff forward at the crawling sand, he fired a frozen blast. He could have sworn that the sand squealed when he turned it into a slab of white and black pancake. That said, he had effectively sealed the only exit of this place.

Not…exactly a bad thing, actually.

Marching forward, the alien boy took a turn around the hallway of the suite, his way just barely lit by the skyline of Burgeshima, he found the dining room disappointingly empty. The same could be said of the living room, except this one was in utter disarray, like a struggle had occurred recently. He didn't think anyone would be in the bathroom, but he checked all the same. When he drew up to the bedroom, he mentally berated himself for not checking this first. I mean, the Boogeyman in bedtime stories wasn't exactly known for hiding in the kitchenette, was he?

He pushed the door open with his staff, brandishing it the way one would brandish a rifle. Of course, the lavish carpets and the plush furniture didn't seem too impressed with his moves, so he lowered the weapon after stepping in. The wide-arched windows that seemed to be going on forever granted him a different view of the city. This time, the room overlooked the prosperous business district, the sky-rising apartments and the giant _shiro_ that stood in the back drop, like a massive black beast glaring down ominously on everything.

It was only then that he had noticed that there was something on the gorgeous four-poster bed. Or rather, someone.

"Tooth." He darted over across the massive bedroom, falling by the side of bed as he reached to his unconscious friend. She was lying on her side, arms tucked firmly in her chest as her head thrashed. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she seemed to be crying while murmuring incoherence.

Pulling her closer to him and shaking her, he called again, "Tooth." It didn't work, so he turned over and shook her by the shoulders, he shouted, "Tooth!"

No points for guessing how that worked.

"Sun. Shadow," was all she murmured, her lids squeezing even more tightly together. "Cold. End." It was almost hilarious how she could say so much and still not awaken.

It wasn't hilarious, however, because he knew that she had been in a similar state many years ago, in that fateful battle with Pitch that crippled her for so long. He wasn't called The Nightmare King for nothing.

The only thing that Jack could do for her was to get her out of this fear-drenched territory and pray that the NSA would help her.

Just as he was about to scoop her up in her his arms, however, he heard it again – _"Ja-ack?"_

His head jerked towards the coffee table, which he could have sworn had been clear when he had arrived. But now, it did hold a small, slender object on it. Departing Tooth's side, he took a closer look, and found it to be an oddly-shaped box. Its painted bases were hexagonal, and its body was long and gold. He picked it up, and while light, he felt as if there was something grave about it, as if its physical mass couldn't depict its true weight.

" _Ja-ack,"_ emerged that same voice from between the crack along the box. It was then he noticed his face painted on the bases of the case. Well, it wasn't exactly photograph-identical, but it captured many of his prominent features – his blue eyes, his naturally white hair, his pale skin with an oddly pinkish-nose. Along the crack were marble tiles groove that fit just nicely for his two thumbs. Slipping his staff under his arm, he took hold of the case with two hands. He pressed down on the grooves.

The marble tiles fell away and the case seemed to be expanding before his eyes. He was starting to see glimpses of shapes in it – shapes that he had only seen in dreams. Dreams of his childhood home. His heart raced as he recognised the spired shapes, the polychromatic sky and then –

The vision vanished. The case in his hands disintegrated, and when he grasped at its fragments, all that he caught was sand. Black sand.

"You know," a petrifying calm voice pierced the quiet, "when you've been in the business as long as I have, you'd realise that people have really strange sort of fears."

Jerking to his left, the once-unoccupied armchair near the coffee table held a gaunt, bony figure. Immediately, Jack reached for his staff, only to find that he couldn't. The black sand in his hands thought it might be funny to form a pair of cuffs around his wrists. To emphasise their triumph, the sand even squeezed his wrists together, making him yelp in pain.

"There was this odd chap I'd once known who was afraid of red dots. Not blue or green dots. No, just red dots," the great archenemy of the Guardians carried on whilst swirling a cup of brandy – or some alcoholic beverage that he had magicked out of nowhere. "Then there was this woman was afraid of the letter 'e'. Refuse to be associated with anything that had that letter, which led to a rather bizarre lifestyle." He glanced the white-haired boy. "Do you want to sit? This may take a while."

"You do realise the longer you monologue, the more time I have to work out how to get these off," Jack pointed out dryly, jiggling his sandy cuffs.

"Yes, I expected no less." Pitch waved him to the chair across. "Now, you might as well sit. If you're comfortable, it might make you pay more attention to whatever I say."

Dragging his feet on the carpet and rolling his eyes, the boy dropped himself into the silky, smooth chair. His cuffed wrists rested on his lap as he raised a brow to the villain, as if to say, _'Happy now?'_

"Now, where was I?" The Nightmare King ignored the slight, manner seemingly irrevocably chatty. "Yes, I've met many with strange fears, and it seems that our dear, dear Tooth has a rather odd bunch. Well-" he paused to contemplate "-the ones about her daughter are valid, I suppose. As with her wards, present and past. Those of her job are, well, a tad irrational at times, but not impossible to comprehend. But that the ones about _you_ -" Pitch let out a throaty chuckle "-my, the ones about you are worth a killing."

"There had better not be some kind of underhand threat hidden as a joke," Jack warned. White frost begun gradually coating the black cuffs, making the unhappy grain writhe and wriggle with annoyance.

"As if I would do such a thing," the man laughed darkly. "But I am serious though – her fears _about_ and _of_ you run surprisingly deep. The box that you saw-" he nodded towards the pile of sand that lie unmoving on the coffee table "-that's from her, about you."

"What is it?" Jack demanded more than asked.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know." Pitch refilled his glass with a chuckle, only to end it with a hiss. It was only then that Jack noticed that his foe had a cloth swapped around his shoulder, bound rather tight. It must have been recently acquired, for he wasn't wearing that before. "And as much satisfaction as it would give me to tell you what exactly it is, and why dear old Tooth would be so desperately afraid that you'd never find it, I think I quite like holding you in frustrated suspense."

"Seriously?"

The shadowy _Kumicho_ gleefully downed another glass without paying him any mind.

"You bloody, bloomin'-" Jack began, only to cut himself shot as a memory struck him–

 _"Your past. You never forgot it."_

And the visions that he saw…

"My past," the boy murmured under his breath. "My home."

His tiny revelation didn't go unnoticed by his foe, who nearly choked on his drink as he spat out, "What?"

"Nothing," Jack hastily said. He would have to think about this later, and all that it implied. At the very moment, the black cuffs snapped apart and his hands were free.

"Here's what going to happen." The alien boy stepped on the base of his staff and it shot upright, straight into his grasp. "I'm going to leave here with Tooth, and as much as I'd like to pummel your face into the ground, I can't do that as well as save her, so-"

"Do you honestly think that I'd have left her in state where she can be saved?" Pitch interjected coolly. With his back facing the city lights, his face was completely obscured by the shadows, making his glowing corneas stick out more than ever. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Jack was going to answer 'very stupid', because Tooth had survived such an ordeal. Somehow, the Guardians had helped her, along with the NSA, so whatever she was undergoing, it wasn't incurable. The only problem was that –

"The Guardians are no longer around." The Nightmare King seemed to be know his thoughts – not literally, though…right? "And the NSA don't want to help either, do they?"

Jack stared at him with disbelief.

"No, I haven't gained a new ability in reading your mind." He rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Not yet at least. I've derived these from your dear friend over there." Pitch jerked his towards the unconscious woman sprawled on the bed. "You should probably know that she's dying, of course."

"Of course," Jack echoed, his expression placid but a trail of ice climbing up the surface of his staff.

"And yes, I'll take full responsibility. I might regret it a little, but, eh-" he shrugged, and then let out a slight hiss again as he did "-the satisfaction of it would be far too good to pass-"

The boy suddenly leapt across the table, staff pointing at the ganglord. But in a blackish-swirl, Pitch's form escaped, darting like a beam of black into the shadows. All the boy was left with was a settee covered in icicles, and a very bad temper.

"She deserved it," Pitch's mocking tone came from behind him, and Jack fired a blast that way, only for the shadowed form to flitter away scott-free. "After what she'd done to _me_ , to _you_."

"If you're trying to imply that Tooth would ever do anything to hurt me, then you're even dumber than I thought," Jack yelled into the blackness.

Deep inside, however, doubt stirred. He knew that his friend had been unusually troubled before coming to the gala, and it wasn't just Pitch's presence. No, she had had something important to tell him, but she couldn't tell him because it was secret. Then why hadn't she told him before, unless she had considered that she might not be living for much longer? If that was so, what was so important that it would warrant the urgency, and why the reluctance?

 _Because she kept his past from him,_ a taunting whisper rang at the back of his head. He shook that thought away. There was no rational reason why Tooth would do such a thing.

A wisp of darkness whizzed towards him. He batted it away, sending it flying through the window as a frosty shower of fragments. "And she can't have anything to do with my missing memories," he shouted in an even louder voice. "Tooth has never been able to read my mind. It has to do with my-"

" _'_ _A-li-en Phy-sio-lo-gy'_." The boy noticed a shift along one of portraits and shot in that direction, only for the shadow to swim elsewhere. "And you believed her when she told you that."

"Yes," Jack answered with more confidence than he actually felt.

"For a being so powerful, you are incredibly naïve."

Black coils suddenly sprung up from below him, locking them around his ankles. Cursing, he stabbed his staff on the ground, turning the carpet into a layer of permafrost. His nice dress shoes unfortunately were trapped under the ice, so he slipped them off before resuming his hunt. "I trust her. That's what friends do – not that you would know."

"Yes." It was no louder than a whisper, but it felt oddly close, as if the dark menace was hovering just over him. As the boy stared up into the black, he heard the Boogeyman intone, "But does _she_ trust _you_?"

At that moment, a waterfall of shadows – black sand? He couldn't tell at this point – came pouring over him like a waterfall. He felt it sticking to his skin like gum, closing over every inch of him, engulfing him until he could no longer see, hear, or breathe. For a second, he could have sworn that his heart had stopped. Until…

 _Lub-dub._

 _Lub-dub._

Then again, silence. Then –

 _SSSSSSSSSSSSSSPPPPPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLARRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKK!_

Silvery sparks exploded, making him feel as if his very soul was pushing out of his body. Shadows were sent scattering and the sand was trapped in his ice, sealing the entire interior of the room with a mix of greyish mix of snow and sand. At the fireplace, he heard a gasp.

There, Pitch was on his knees, panting and gasping as he clutched his wound. Raising his head slightly, his brows furrowed at the alien.

The Nightmare King shot to his feet, his free hand curling into a fist. Long black darts came flying towards Jack, but the boy met them head on with blast after blast, stepping towards his injured foe as he did. Pitch hardened his jaw as the shadow at his feet turned to sand, and the sand built itself into a ridiculously long scythe that would be impossible to lift, were it made of ordinary material. But for its maker, the scythe did its job, and Jack missed being sliced into half just in time by jumping off the ground, then ducking swiftly. He tried to land a strike on the man himself, but Pitch's rapid swings made it nearly impossible for him to fire up a good blast.

His eyes then fell on the hastily dressed wound on his foe's chest, and pondered. If the Guardians were around, they might frown on the move, call it foul-play on all that. But the Guardians weren't around anymore.

Spinning himself out of the way, he feigned be overwhelmed, darting to the end of the bedroom for cover. As Pitch followed foolishly behind, swinging his scythe out as he did, Jack suddenly kicked himself off the wall, spinning himself so quick in the air that Pitch could not react to it. And then, he fired.

The ice blast struck deep centre of the wound, for Pitch's weapon fell apart and he grabbed on the frost covered opening. As his enemy cursed and hissed, Jack watched the blood dripping down the black kimono. It was actually a rather odd sight, because in all his years, the alien lad didn't even know that Pitch could bleed.

Knowing that Pitch would strike him down the minute he had the chance, Jack swung his staff out, slamming against the mobster's head. It forced Pitch to fall on his side, groaning and grunting as he did. Bring down the end of his staff down on Pitch's temple, pinning him to the ground, Jack taunted him, "Not so powerful, are you, Boogeyman?"

The dark pupils flitted his way, but in his agony, his opponent couldn't deliver a comeback.

"Stop whatever you're doing to Tooth," Jack ordered, "or-"

"Or what?" Pitch rasped, barely able to form his words. But he could still grin, apparently, and his grin was way too happy. "You'll turn me over to the police? To the Guardians? The NSA?" A throaty chortle emerged from his thin lips. "I own the police. I destroyed the Guardians. I ruined the NSA. What can a great _hero_ like you really do to a despicable _villain_ like me, Jack?"

At that moment, the boy's fierce expression slipped, and it was a mistake.

Even from his angle, Pitch saw it, and he taunted him, "Oh, right. You're the villain these days. That's why the NSA wants to lock you up. And guess what? I'm the hero in this town. People look to me-" he coughed, hard, but still continue to smile "-the way they used to look to the Guardians. Really, what can you do to me?"

"I can stop you!" Jack yelled with way more force than he needed.

"How, boy? _How?"_ The Nightmare King's tone grew increasingly derisive. "What prison can hold me? What individual is not susceptible to my influence? I could rule the world if I put my mind to it. In fact-" he flashed his fang-like teeth "-I'm already on the way. There's no one I cannot contest."

Suddenly, Jack felt his muscles stiffening. Against his own will, he felt his staff lifting itself from Pitch. He felt himself taking one, then two steps back, and as he did, the Nightmare King slowly sat himself up. The boy struggled against the pull, and he demanded, "How are you doing this? You can't-"

"Control you? No, I can't. But-" Pitch angled his head towards Tooth, who had gone terrifying still on the bed "-she can."

Jack's eyes flitted between his comatose friend to his laughing foe, still unable to move any other part of his body.

"I may be more powerful, but the Tooth Fairy has always been more skilled." The amount of glee was injected into that explanation would have been adorable on a child, but from Pitch, it was more menacing than the word 'menacing' itself. "Naturally, I thought it'd be a waste to kill her off without taking her strengths. And my, what a plethora she has."

Jack felt his chest constricting abruptly and breathing suddenly became massively difficult.

"The longer you talked to me, the more of her powers I'd siphoned into myself. Really, you thought that my 'monologuing' bought you time when really-" the grip around his chest tightened much further, making Jack gasp rapidly "-it was all for me."

The boy couldn't answer, because he didn't even have the air for it. He tried to focus, to build the energy, but his oxygen-deprived body refused to cooperate with him. He couldn't form even the tiniest flick of frost. _But_ he might be able to use the ice around him.

Pitch had been taunting and cackling at him when he suddenly went quiet. The pale man clamped his hand over his wound once again as the ice there bit into him. With that bit of focus diverted, Jack found himself able to breathe and in control of his senses once again. A gust of wind knocked the Boogeyman off his feet once more, and before he could do anything else, Jack struck him on the head with his staff.

Then the shoulder.

Then the waist.

And after a while, he didn't care where he hit. Jack just wanted to hear the grunts, the cries, even the garbled pleas. All the hate brewing within him, all the time where he had been shunned for doing the right thing – it was because of _him_. All the time where he had been hunted and chased – it was because of _him_. The Guardians scattered, Tooth dying – _all because of HIM!_

Jack didn't care if there was blood on his staff. He didn't care if there was blood on his hands. He wanted Pitch Black dead, and he wanted him to suffer as he went down.

At one moment, he had paused, just so he could examine his handiwork. The grand _Kumicho_ of the Nightmare Yakuza lay curled at his feet, a thin, raggedly mess of torn fabric and angry lashes. Jack crouched himself down, so that he could look into his fallen enemies eyes.

And then he said, "Let Tooth go, and I'll let you live."

Pitch, face bloodied and scarred, just blinked at him.

The boy knew the answer then, and straightened himself back to his feet.

"So be it then," he said as he angled the 'G' hook of his staff towards Pitch's head. He sighed briefly, before allowing the energy to build in him, then flowing into the staff. The tip of the staff began to glow, crackling with cold fury.

But then, he felt his staff being jerked from his grip and the blast boomed through the wall instead, smashing through a china set and a wall mural as it did.

Still startled, Jack glanced dumbly towards the blonde woman next to him. Her lovely dress was in tatters. Her hair was in a disarray. Her skin was covered with bruises and scratches. It was a wonder that she was still standing on two feet.

"Stay away from my father."

In his stunned state, his brain was a little slow on the uptake. By the time he got her meaning, he had already been blasted out of the window.

* * *

So he might have been a little harsh on the blonde. She might call herself a hero, but man, she's still pretty young. Flynn supposed that it might be a little much to expect her to brush it off the way he did. He had years to practice. She hadn't.

Still, if she wanted to last long in this hero gig, she needed to buck up, and buck up fast.

The blonde – or brunette at the moment - had decided to pour herself a drink, to which he had no objections. It was probably all from the Kumicho's personal supply, so, sure. Take all you want. Later after she had done the deed, he'd ask her if she reckoned what she'd done as stealing.

Also, he had to ask her about her name. Solaris, he could understand, with all the light powers. But 'Rapunzel'? As a birth name? That mother that she mentioned must have been downright nuts to pin that on her. Must have been teased lots in school.

But all these exciting questions could wait after he was done with his current task; examining the body he had decapitated.

To be honest, Flynn didn't feel the slightest bit guilty about killing the vigilante. As much as he admired 13, a part of him reckoned that the masked fellow's agenda to wipe out the criminals of Burgeshima included himself. He would never be one of those 'innocents' to benefit from such an indiscriminate, pigheaded executor, so it was in his best interests to rid the city of the guy. Sure, if 13 was gone, there mightn't any real opposition against the Nightmare King. Well, there was that Ice Guy from the Guardians though, so …maybe it'll work it.

Yet, there were something that wasn't adding up.

For one, it was clear that the body lying by his feet was _not_ 13\. In fact, Flynn was pretty sure he had seen this guy around sometime patrolling the _shiro_. He was not remarkable in appearance, strength or wit. He was just one of the many Nightmares, blindly loyal and none-too-bright. This fellow that he had just decapitated – well, after all that he heard of the ruthless vigilante of Burgeshima – didn't seem to be like 13 at all.

As the rogue crouched down next to the limp, still bleeding body, he noticed something sticking out of the guards' inner coat pocket. It wasn't shaped like any kind of weapon, nor a communication device. Curious, Flynn reached over and removed it.

It was rectangular in shape, relatively light in his hand, and something about it was pretty familiar. But the room was too dark for him to see anything at the moment.

Fortunately, the dead guard had a flashlight on him, so Flynn gladly took it off him and jabbed the switch. Under the orangey glow, he found himself staring down a small wood-lacquer box, on that he had recalled seeing just a day ago in his possession. Shifting the light, he glanced down to the headless body, then to the head that had been attached to it, then back at the box again. How on Earth this box fall in this guy's hands?

"Flynn?" He could hear Solaris' – Rapunzel's, whatever – voice wafting in from the kitchen. He could hear her steps, coming up behind him. "What is it?"

He rose to his feet, holding the torch with his mouth as he opened up the box. There they lay, as it did in his memory, a calligraphy brush and a bottle of red ink. He picked up the bottle see the label, and it was still there. _Don't write in red._

He heard the girl gasp. "Where did you get that box?"

He examined the brush, feeling it with his fingertips. It was wet – recently used.

"Flynn," Solaris' voice suddenly became very grave. "Give me the box."

The rugged rogue whipped around, pulling the torch from his mouth as staring her down. "What?"

"Give me the box," she repeated, a hand held out towards him.

A scowl appeared on his face, a well of bitterness swelling in him. Who was she to push him around, give him orders? If he didn't take that kind of trash from his superiors in the Yakuza, what made her think he'd take from her? "Why? I thought you don't want evidence of a _murder victim_."

The young heroine, to her credit, just gave him a withering look, before insisting again, "Give me the box. I just want to see it."

"Well, guess what? No. I won't give to you." He snapping the box shut, slotting it in his pocket. "Why? Because I found it, and finders keepers. All that." Yes, it was childish, but he wasn't exactly feeling very mature at the moment. "I'm the one who isn't squeamish about dead bodies, so if I found it off him, why should I give it to you?"

"I just want to-" The masked girl lunged forward, trying to reach for that pocket. He turned away fast enough, blocking her from taking it "-see it! Come on!"

"Well, I said no!"

"Well, that's just stupid!" she snapped in turn, right before darting around him, trying to snatch the box.

Flynn removed it from his pocket, holding it over her head and out of her reach. "Well, I'm sorry that I don't match your intellectual capacity," he drawled sarcastically. "Not all of us grow up in nice, shiny towns like Korobe and go to nice, shiny schools."

"You-" she leapt up, but he just raised the box higher "-you are-" she jumped again, but he moved it out of her reach once more "-you're a downright jerk, aren't you?"

He let out a fake gasp. "A nice hero like you, calling me a 'jerk'? Is that allowed?"

It was actually kind of amusing, actually, to see someone so dainty and small appear so absolutely frustrated. "I can't believe," she spat through clenched teeth, "I'd ever considered that you might be any better than a-" then something garbled.

"I'm sorry." His tone was biting and acrid. "If you want to swear at me, you might have to say it a bit louder."

"I said-" and then she said something, but he didn't really catch it. His ears just seemed to have…stopped working.

In fact, Flynn felt as if all senses had gone on lower-power mode. He could still see, hear, and feel, but everything that his brain could register was a blur.

He couldn't recall when he had shoved the girl off her feet. He certainly didn't recall having more than one gun, because suddenly, he was whipping out twin pistols from holsters that he didn't have.

He certainly didn't recall having a voice that sounded so grating, so chilling. "Nice to see you again, Rapunzel. So-" his thumbs, now covered with metallic gauntlets, cocked the hammers of his pistols simultaneously, pointing them with an ease of skill that he didn't possess "-shall we continue where we left off?"

The girl stepped back, eyes wide. "Flynn?"

There was someone else here. Someone who had overridden the controls, someone that was making him grin in a wry manner, and answer through the heavy mask, "Nice try, but nope."

And that's when Flynn fell backwards into the pool of unconsciousness.

~~~0~~~

 **S/N:**

 **A good deal more ROTG references this round, whoot! And finally, Pitch and Jack confronting each other for real. I really enjoyed writing it.**

 **Tooth was never going to stand a chance against Pitch.**

 **By the way things are going, The Gala Arc will mostly like end up with six parts, but that would depends on how much fighting I write into Part 5, ehehehe.**

 **Up Next: 13's on the roll.**

* * *

 **A/N: The first chapter I posted in the year. Heh.**

 **I'm sleepy.**

 **Review. Ask Questions. Whatever. I need to sleep.**


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